


tell me what you hate about me

by zoeyclarke



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Doctors, Ava is bi, Basically set up like a rom-com with some dramatic elements, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, This starts off light but eventually there are references to assault/drug abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-11-09 03:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 54,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeyclarke/pseuds/zoeyclarke
Summary: ava starts her new job in a whole new country. she thinks she's doing alright so far, until some idiot hits her car on a brisk monday morning.





	1. day one

**Author's Note:**

> okay, like... i know i should stop but i still really love these two? and as long as i'm still obsessed i'm gonna write all the content i can for them. because, again, i reiterate: dr. ava bekker deserved better.
> 
> so this is an au where they never became doctors, and they meet in a completely different way. don't worry, though, they're still colleagues ;) for now the most adult thing here will be swearing, but some more serious themes will come into play later on. also just know, ava is not 100% straight in this story :) (i really wanted to try my hand at a slow burn romance even tho i prefer them getting together, like, yesterday. pray for me)
> 
> fic title taken from "good things fall apart" by illenium

A year ago, Ava couldn’t be sure where she would be now. But if she had bet money on it, she would’ve sunk all her dollars towards something that was close to the exact opposite of what she was doing right now: sitting in morning traffic, rosy-cheeked and smiling to herself as she sang along softly to “Call Me Maybe.”

... maybe her life _ had _been worse back then than she’d realized. Damn. But anyway --

“It’s hard to look right at you, baby,” she mumbled. Her fingers drummed a beat on the steering wheel that definitely did not match the beat of the song. She was at the front of a long line, facing the intersection as a flood of cars passed in front of her. She watched the red light steadily. “But here’s my number...” Red. Red. Red... green! “So call me maybe.”

She hesitated before lifting her foot off the brake, letting the last couple assholes who skated through their yellow light go by. As she proceeded forward, a sharp ray of sunlight sliced through her windshield and hit her face. She groaned and flipped her visor down.

It was a pretty day, but the sky still had a grayish hue to it that promised minor snow flurries later. Snow and ice were always a pain in the ass for her; she’d been living in Chicago for almost three months now but it was still something to get used to. When compared to Port Elizabeth, where she was born and raised, Chicago might as well have been the North Pole. Ava thought she was handling an entirely new country and a vastly different climate fairly well, all things considered. Even the whole driving on the right side of the road instead of left thing wasn’t that bad, either. In fact, being right-handed, she found this a lot more comfortable.

Carly Rae’s bubblegum pop hit dwindled to a close, and Ava kept up with the lyrics. “Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad...”

She was _ such _a good singer. Why did she never become a singer?

“I missed you so bad...”

She startled, noticing the next light ahead of her turning yellow. If memory served her right, this was a long yellow light, but better safe than sorry. She was going at a decent speed, so she hit the brakes somewhat hard, and winced as the car jerked to a halt just past the stop line. The light remained yellow for just a blink longer, and she opened her mouth again to finish the song - _ how can you miss someone before they’ve come into your life, anyway? _\- and that was when she was slammed into from behind. The sedan lurched, and her chest smacked the wheel. “Oh, fuck me!” she spat.

She gave herself a moment to make sure she was still, indeed, alive. No broken bones, just a sore chest (probably bruised, great) and a mild case of whiplash. Wasn’t this fantastic? Just fan-fuckin’-tastic. 

The light turned green again. Right on cue, honking started up behind her and the dumbass behind her. Better get out of the way before she fell victim to American road rage; though, to be honest, she was about to inflict something fierce on her rear-ender. She recovered herself and yanked the car over onto the shoulder, relieved to see the other guy following her lead.

Then, at last, she killed the engine and kicked her door open. She walked around to the crime scene: currently, the handsome nose of a Porsche was crumpled into the rear end of her Jetta. Suddenly, it seemed her day forecasted a bit more than snow flurries.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Her head snapped up to meet the owner of the voice. He slammed the door of his once-flawless ride and came to stand beside her, surveying the damage. He had a toned build, dark hair, and a coating of stubble along his jawline.

“Yeah, I’d say damned is right,” she said, chewing on her lower lip furiously. “At least insurance will say it was your fault.”

She saw the guy stiffen and turn to look at her. “Whoa, hold on. _ My _fault?”

Ava gave him a curt nod but barely offered him the satisfaction of eye contact. “Well, yes. Last I checked, the person who _ gets _rear-ended - in this case, myself - is never at fault. Next time don’t be looking down at your phone while driving. Simple.”

“First of all, I was not” - he fixed her with a seething glare she couldn’t ignore - “I was _ not _looking at my phone. You’re the one who abruptly braked for a yellow light.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do!”

“But you did it so last minute, I was expecting you to keep going, but you...” He gritted his teeth, swinging his head back toward the damage. “... didn’t.” The expression on his face made it seem like he had expected his precious Porsche to be dent-proof or something. For the amount of money he must have dropped on it, it damn well should’ve been.

She crossed her arms. “I’m sorry. I sincerely wasn’t aware your Porsche came equipped with a radar gun that could read minds.” Ava then hummed, kicking around gravel with her toe. “Seems like it’s faulty, might want it to get checked.”

He huffed, and moved closer with his chest puffed out a little. How cute. He only had two or three inches on her, _ maybe_, and a pair of heels would solve that distance real quick. “Check your attitude,” he muttered, before backing off slightly.

“If you think you’re intimidating, you’re not.” She followed her flat statement with a heavy sigh. “Okay, listen, I’m just... not in the mood to deal with this right now. Let’s exchange information and get going.”

He jerked a hand at his car. “You think this thing is drivable?”

“I don’t know, but mine is.” There was a beat, then she shrugged a shoulder. “You were able to pull it over, weren’t you?”

Mr. Porsche threw his arms up in the air. “Okay. Whatever.” He spared his watch a swift glance. “I’m already late to work as it is.”

After they were done with each other, Ava hopped back in her wounded car and started it up, waiting for him to peel off loudly like she knew he would before merging back onto the road herself. She wasn’t sure why he was so upset about possibly having to pay for her repairs; if he owned a Porsche, the dude must be loaded.

It figured this would happen on her first day at her new job. At least she’d given herself plenty of time to get there and still had fifteen minutes to spare. If she drove through the yellow lights the rest of the way there, she would be okay. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be slowing down for any yellow lights for a while.

* * *

Connor stormed into the office building, shoulders hunched and nostrils flared. What a great way to start the morning, pulling into his unwanted reserved parking space with a smashed front end. The vanity plate was hanging off by a thread, too. He’d felt like a kicked puppy driving that disaster the rest of the way to work. That woman had been fierce.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket and scrolled back to the number she’d plugged in. (And of course she was offended when he insisted on calling the number right then to make sure she wasn’t swindling him.) He groaned just looking at it and being reminded of what waited for him out in the parking lot. Gotta love Mondays.

Connor waved to the receptionist, then stepped into the elevator to the twelfth floor. He repeatedly glanced at his watch like it was a nervous tic, all the while biting his lip. He knew the chances of him actually landing in hot water for this one were slim; but even if it wasn’t a boiling pot that he faced, the temperature wasn’t going to be cool either.

He exited the elevator, stopping at the Keurig machine for a minute before heading to his desk with a steaming mug pressed to his lips. It was partially obscuring his vision, but then when he set the coffee down, he found his fate waiting for him. His computer monitor was completely covered in sticky notes, all of which had the same word scribbled angrily on them: LATE. LATE, LATE, LATE. 

Phew. He wiped some sweat off his brow. It definitely could’ve been worse than a bunch of petty sticky notes. He peeled them off one by one, then waved his computer mouse and dove right in. He had no time to waste - there was a new hire coming in pretty soon who he would have to train. That was quite literally the last thing Connor felt like spending his time doing, but he supposed there were worse things to endure.

But he wasn’t prepared when he got the call to head back to the front desk less than ten minutes later. _ Shit_. If he’d been here on time, he would have been able to do more before dealing with this newbie.

Rising, he adjusted his tie and headed out of his office, down the hallway, and around a couple corners to the front desk, where the twelfth floor receptionist, Robin, smiled at him (and blushing as always, it was beyond him why). He spotted his charge at the desk standing with her back to him.

Just looking at her from behind, something seemed off and he frowned. She had a nice, slim figure and caramel-colored blonde waves that fell only a little past her shoulders. But that outfit - the skirt and the white blouse - those looked familiar.

Then she spun around to face him, and his blood froze over. Immediately, the polite grin she wore fragmented, and her face fell. Quickly she caught herself, and let out a stiff chuckle.

“Oh, it’s you.”

_ You’ve gotta be kidding me. _

Connor maintained his composure as Robin watched them curiously, clearly able to read their body language. He stepped forward and shook the woman’s hand. “So we meet again. Connor Rhodes.”

She seemed to stifle another laugh, and smirked instead. “Ava Bekker,” she told him. She held his hand for maybe a little longer than necessary, and when they broke contact he shoved both hands into his pockets uncomfortably.

Robin was still staring at them with a mixture of amusement and confusion, so Connor jerked his head in the direction he’d come from and started to lead Ava deeper into the maze of cubicles and humming computer monitors. “So, uh, welcome. As you know, I’ll be showing you the ropes today.” He spoke swiftly, barely getting a breath between sentences. “I function as the vice president of--”

“Oh, I know who you are, V.P. Rhodes,” she interrupted, placing a teasing emphasis on his title that made him bristle. “I studied up on your extensive biography on the website. It’s a shame there was no picture of you, though.”

Connor flicked some lint out of his pocket and came to a stop at the end of the hall, turning on her. Shameless hazel eyes met his gaze, twinkling with mirth. All at _ his _ expense. “Okay, listen,” he said, keeping his voice low as he leaned toward her. “Here’s what's not going to happen: you making fun of me like we’re in middle school, you even _ hinting _ at what happened earlier this morning, you showing disrespect--”

Her eyebrows lifted, and she put up her hands to distance herself a little. “Hold on, Mr. Rhodes. I don’t mean to express any disrespect towards you. In fact, I admire you quite a lot. You’ve accomplished many feats in a short time. I do respect you.”

He turned his face away, sighing as he resumed their brisk pace to his office. “Then act like it, please.”

They had only made it a few more steps when she asked him to wait. Ears burning, Connor glanced over his shoulder and saw Ava preparing herself a coffee at the Keurig stand. He watched as she sifted through the selection of K-cup pods. She ended up choosing the same kind he liked, and as she popped it into the machine he swallowed another sigh. Great, that was one less for him to drink. It seemed he was the only one in the office who liked that flavor.

The silence pressed on him, and he decided to subtly ruffle her feathers in return. There was no harm intended, after all. “What if I told you that you have to pay for that?”

She peered at him innocently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do I?”

He lowered his hands into his pockets once again. “No.”

The machine finished pouring out her drink, and she grabbed her mug. “Okay, then.”

Trying not to cringe at himself for that foolish lapse in professionalism, Connor started to move on only for Ava to make a disgusted noise behind him. Frustration gnawed at him as, yet again, he twisted around.

She was smacking her lips, nose crinkled as she stared down at her coffee. “My god, this is disgusting. Way too sweet.”

Connor suppressed a snort and resumed walking. “Guess you’ll have to pick better next time, then,” he responded, secretly rejoicing that his weird coffee flavor would still be only his in the foreseeable future.


	2. days three/four

Connor stepped out of the elevator, moving rapidly around the corner and nearly missing Robin’s friendly smile. He shot her a fleeting grin, hoping she wouldn’t stop him to hand him more paperwork. Luckily, she did not.

He swung around another corner and into the hallway with the coffee machine. He made his usual pit stop, popping in his “disgusting, way too sweet” flavor and waiting the minute and a half for it to brew. He stared absently out the window while the Keurig worked, fiddling with his blue patterned tie. The sky had a little more blue in it today, and fewer clouds. It was looking like a typical clear and cloudless February morning.

When his coffee was poured, he picked up the mug and cradled it in his still frosty hands. He liked how the mugs here were always warm and fresh out of the dishwasher in the morning, and without fail always stacked neatly on the little table by the machine, waiting for him. It was a relief to have at least one aspect of order to his life, however small it may be.

Connor headed into his office and kicked the door shut behind him, not feeling particularly open to other people today. He had to put his nose to the grindstone and get working; he was already so behind because of his irritating “trainee” constantly barging in and asking questions--

Just like that, the door creaked open again, and Ava marched into the room, bringing along a cold breeze tinged with fruity perfume.

He knew it was her without even looking up because of the perfume. It smelled like pear and green tea and he kind of hated that he didn’t hate it. Keeping his eyes on his computer, he snapped, “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking where you’re from?”

She stopped short, and his eyes flicked from the screen to her. She stood with her lips parted, then shook her head slowly. “Where I’m _ from_? Really, Mr. Rhodes? That’s a low comment, even for you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “All I know is that you’re not from Chicago. I didn’t mean anything rude by it.” Seriously, he could tell her there was a loose thread on her shirt and she would flip.

Ava approached his desk and shuffled a packet of papers in her hands. “What was it that helped you figure it out? Was it the accent, or maybe the minimal toleration for Americans suffering from a mean superiority complex?” Before she could give him a chance to answer, she slapped the papers down. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that they spelled my last name wrong on all these forms.” She spread them out like a fan, indicating with a jabbing finger at various highlighted spots. “It’s Bekker, not _ Bekkar_. E, not an A.”

“That’s not really something I can fix. Take those to Robin if you want. But it’s not a big deal if it’s spelled correctly, just as long as you sign them correctly.” With that, he returned his eyes to the glowing monitor before him.

She snatched up the papers and studied him with cool, narrowed eyes. “Just thought I would let you know. It’s important to keep track of your employees’ mistakes before they get out of hand.”

He bit back a retort and pretended not to watch as she spun around and sauntered out of the room, at least letting the door fully shut behind her. How ridiculous could this woman get? Was one misplaced letter really going to lead to the downfall of the entire company? Apparently it was, if she had a say in it.

This was a big reason why Connor was getting more frustrated with his job with each passing day. He was the Vice President of his department, and a very important member of the upper hierarchy here, and still felt like most of the people above him couldn’t give less of a shit about what he had to deal with. The worst of it was that his boss was in charge of all hiring and firing, so he could hire hotheads like one Ava Bekker and then barely have to work with them, if at all. If it had been up to Connor, he would’ve tossed her resume right in the trash.

Yeah, definitely. Qualifications be damned.

Later that day, he treated himself to a long lunch at the busy cafe down the street. He took up a small table in the back corner. He slouched deep down in the wobbly wooden chair, loosening his tie and closing his eyes, just letting himself breathe for a few minutes. What he really needed was a few hours, maybe even days, of just breathing, but that wasn’t possible. Resigned, he nibbled at his overpriced artisan turkey sandwich and popped open his laptop to answer emails. 

Little Ms. Snarky had already chipped away at the decent mood he had woken up with, but the phone call he received just before leaving the office absolutely ruined it. The insurance company had totaled his car in spite of it still working just fine. He would easily be able to replace it, but he had really loved that exact model; he’d had it painted a custom shade and it had been nearly impossible to find an interior he liked that came with stick shift. Though he hadn’t exactly liked driving around in a busted-up vehicle, he’d at least thought it could be repaired. He would bet anything Ava’s car would take only twenty minutes to fix. Of course.

Connor was scrolling absently, trying to grind down a stubborn piece of kale between his molars, when he stumbled upon an intriguing email:

_ Connor: _

_ I’m going to need you on a flight to San Francisco tomorrow morning. There’s a deal I want finished but they’re insisting on getting a signature in person. Your name should be good enough. Please be back by Friday morning. _

The bite of food he was chewing suddenly turned cold and slimy in his mouth, and he gulped it down. He stared at the words “good enough” and at the blank space where his father’s name should’ve been at the end of the message. He rubbed his fingers over the mousepad, scrolling to the plane ticket attached to the email.

Well, at least he said “please.”

* * *

“It hasn’t been terrible so far, but I’m only three days into the job,” Ava admitted as she flipped on her signal and started to back into the parking space. God, she hated parallel parking. She was bound to kiss the curb, though at this point what did that matter if she already had a scraped-up bumper?

The voice of her friend, Mina, crackled through the car’s Bluetooth. The shitty reception really was a stark reminder of the ocean between them. “But are they taking you seriously there?” Ava opened her mouth, but she kept going. “They better be, because you already know how much of a jerk the manager was at your last job here.”

“Yeah, for the most part. I mean, I--” She cringed as her back tire dragged along the curb, and the car jerked when she moved to correct it. “I was saying, I’ve only really dealt with the receptionist and Mr. High-and-Mighty V.P. Come to think of it, I was a little surprised it was the V.P. showing me around. I know I came to fill the post of assistant V.P., but you’d think he would have better things to do than explain shit to the new person.”

Mina laughed. “I’m still just amazed he’s the same dude who hit your car. What are the odds of that? Maybe the States really are smaller than you realize.”

“Could be, yeah.” Ava let out a pleased hum as she straightened the car within the tight space. Finally. Only took, like, ten minutes. “It’s just irritating. I’m excited to start anew... god knows I need to... but I almost feel like I’m fresh out of university again, except this time I’m 28 instead of 22. Six whole years gone. And I’m just exhausted in general.”

“Maybe it’s the time difference? Six hours, right?”

“Seven, actually. I’m still getting used to it. Just kill me, please.” 

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, they hung up and Ava went up to her apartment.

It was a decent-sized place, a two bedroom, one bathroom with sky-high rent. She tossed her bag on the counter and went to the fridge to scavenge for some edible dinner. She knew she really should cook tonight; the past two nights were lost to laziness and the take-out containers in the garbage sent fumes of shame wafting in her direction.

She managed to concoct something that vaguely resembled a stir-fry. Then she stripped off her boring formal work clothes and got in the shower. She stood for fifteen minutes under the steaming hot spray, letting the water stream down her back and sink in until it reached her bones. It was always a long process. Then she got out and dried off and changed into her pajamas.

She perched herself on the edge of her bed and rolled up the sleeves of her old sweatshirt, grabbing the bottle of lotion on the nightstand. It was lavender and honey scented, and she massaged it into her forearms, rubbing deep circles into the tender skin. Most nights she would then sit and stare at the wall for a while, but tonight she was too drained.

Instead, she lay back on her pillow and pulled the covers over her body and thought about things until she drifted off. Her dreams weren’t too great that night.

The next morning she took her time meddling with the office Keurig, popping in the coffee pod with an air of uncertainty. This was her fourth day, so that meant it was the fourth flavor she was trying. It seemed all they had to offer here was shitty, sugary Starbucks frappuccino-like varieties. What ever happened to plain old coffee?

Ava made her way over to her desk, which was situated just a thin, fuzzy gray cubicle wall away from the Porsche Prince’s fancy private office. More than she liked to admit, she would scoot back in her wheeled chair and peek at the clear glass panes to see if he was focused intently on his computer, scribbling on papers, or yelling at someone on his phone. It was solid entertainment, but nothing beat actually going in there and forcing him to hear her voice.

Today, she noticed, his space was deserted. Maybe he had Thursdays off? Not that she really gave a shit, anyway. She had her own stuff to do.

She spent most of the day twisting a wily curl of hair around her finger, typing, and trying to be productive. She was caught off guard when Latham called her into his office at the end of the day. Still, she didn’t let her nerves show when she stepped into her superior’s room. 

It was more dimly lit than the rest of the twelfth floor, and Ava felt like she was entering a cramped cave. Latham motioned for her to sit across from him, and she obeyed; a hefty oak desk stretched between them. She folded her fingers and looked at him expectantly. This was the boss of her boss - what could he possibly want to do with her?

“Well, Ms. Bekker,” he rumbled, shuffling through some papers. He was so authoritative that he made the action look official, though Ava had a feeling he was doing it absentmindedly, just to keep his hands busy. “Although you have only been with us for less than a week so far, I have to say I am impressed by your drive and work quality.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied. Silence followed, the painfully awkward kind that made her organs itch. He kept shuffling his papers, and she squirmed. Then, for the first time, he made eye contact, and furrowed his brow at her. She swallowed. “Uh, I’m sorry, did you... or, er, am I supposed to--?”

He made an impatient gesture at the open door, and she jumped up, nearly flinging herself off that chair. “Okay, then, that’s all. Thank you, sir, I appreciate it.” She sped out of the room and returned to her desk only partly wishing she could sink through all twelve floors of this building and down a storm drain outside.

A few minutes later, Ava had gathered her belongings and was headed out for the day. On her way out, she hesitated by the receptionist’s desk, where Robin was also packing up. For a moment, she really considered asking Robin if she knew where Connor had been today. But no - that would be stupid. With that decision firmly set in her head, she boarded the elevator.


	3. day twelve

Valentine’s Day was three entire days ago, and Ava was tired of seeing the red and pink hearts pinned up all around the office. She bet Robin had something to do with the stupid streamers that were taped along the edge of the Kuerig table. A bowl of heart-shaped chocolates wrapped in red and pink foil sat next to the coffee machine, mocking her with what it symbolized.

Then, when she was returning to her desk with her microwaved lunch later that day, she spotted Robin in the doorway of Connor’s office. God, she really was tired of hearing that woman’s breathy vocal cords trill gracefully through the air. Was she a Disney princess or something?

Ava kept an eye on them, not really able to help it since her desk was right there (and, she’d noticed there was the thinnest of cracks where her cubicle walls met. But she definitely hardly _ ever _ spied in her corner). She didn’t care much to listen in on their conversation, though she very well could have. She had just swallowed another bite of mushy mac-and-cheese when their hushed words regained volume.

“Okay, thanks again, Connor,” the receptionist said. Ava picked at her cuticles and wondered when one gained the privilege of calling him by his first name.

“No problem. See you tonight,” he answered. Then Robin flounced away, passing behind Ava’s chair and emitting a sigh lighter than a cloud.

That settled it, Ava needed a cigarette.

Downstairs was a little courtyard closed in by what she assumed were lush and fragrant trees in any other season. But seeing as Chicago was still ensnared in the throes of a bitter winter, the trees were harsh and bare, twiggy limbs like brittle bones. Ava leaned against the building and slipped her lighter out of her pocket. She nearly grabbed one of the stupid chocolates she’d taken from that cursed bowl, but corrected herself.

She didn’t smoke that often; it was a habit she had been especially trying to break since leaving South Africa. But she was a habitual person, and it was nice to have a habit. She liked to keep her hands and mind occupied. Until she could fill in that mysterious little gap in her heart, this could do.

A breeze whistled through the skeletal trees, lifting a crushed soda can from the ground and tossing it forward a few feet. It nearly put out her cig, but she managed to cup her hand over the smoldering stick of death to protect it. She shuddered and curled the fingers of her free hand into her palm, wishing she’d brought her gloves.

“You got a light?” She hoped she didn’t visibly jump, but inside her heart leaped at the unexpected voice. She glanced over and recognized one of her colleagues who she’d run into at the coffee stand and break room a few times. They’d never bothered to introduce themselves yet, though. He was fairly tall with a crop of red hair and the beginnings of a beard. He stood to her right with an unlit cig balanced between his index and middle fingers.

Ava shrugged. “Sure,” she said and leaned forward to snag her flame on his smoke.

“I’m Will Halstead, by the way,” he said after thanking her. “You’re the latest addition to the twelfth floor crew, right?”

She flicked off some ash and nodded. “Yeah. Ava Bekker.” They shook hands and he tilted his head at her.

“Interesting accent. Where you from?”

“Port Elizabeth.”

“New Jersey?”

She almost coughed. Instead, she plastered on a smile that she hoped didn’t look as much like a grimace as it felt. “Um, no. South Africa.”

His eyebrows were just as ginger as his hair. She watched them rise to damn near his hairline. “Huh. That’s cool. Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from there.”

Ava blew some smoke and stared straight ahead, watching the trees sway. “Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from Chicago, either.”

There was a beat, then Will chuckled. “You’re funny.” He settled next to her on the brick wall. “So what brings you all the way here?”

“This job.”

In her peripheral, he was gazing at her with an intensity she wasn’t sure she liked. Hopefully he just had the hots for her, which was still not a good thing. The mere thought of it made her soul ache.

“Wow. Just the job?” he said. She nodded again.

It was mostly the truth. She had already been here for a month when she applied, but it had been exactly what she was aiming for when she came here. She couldn’t say for sure why the hell she picked Chicago over, say, New York City or Los Angeles, but it was better than the impoverished locality she originated from.

Her cigarette was almost burned down to a nub now. Holding it carefully, she pinched it into the nearby ashtray and pushed off the wall. “Well, it was lovely talking to you, Will, but I should be getting back up now.” She had already breezed out of there before he could even have the chance to sputter out an answer.

To her dismay, the elevator took ages to chug back down to the first floor. She waited in the lobby, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, hoping Will wouldn’t come wandering back in and trap her in another dumb conversation. Ava was just about to give up and take the stairs - since punching the button a thousand times had failed to work - when by some miracle, the elevator doors at last slid open.

She was so focused on getting on, and when she instead walked head-on into someone, it jolted her out of her anger and back to awareness. Then, upon seeing who it was, something simmered within her all over again.

“Ava. What are you doing down here?” Connor’s eyebrows were like fuzzy strips of velcro as he scrunched them together. “It’s a bit past lunch.”

_ Could ask you the same. _“I just needed some fresh air,” she told him. She decided not to include the part where “fresh air” actually meant inhaling that sweet, disgusting nicotine smoke into her lungs. Then she wondered if he smelled it on her. Ugh, of course.

“Oh.” She didn’t like the smirk that was starting to fray the edges of his frown. “Out catching a smoke with Will?”

“No,” she snapped. “Excuse me.” She shoved past him to board the elevator. As she did so, she popped a chocolate into her mouth to chase away the lingering smoky taste. The doors slid swiftly shut between them; on one side, she wildly pulled off her scarf, and on the other side, he loosened his tie.

* * *

Connor was unwrapping a heart-shaped chocolate at his desk when Robin called and said Latham wanted to see him. He wished she’d just come to tell him in person - though, then again, he would be seeing plenty of her tonight.

Latham, however, was someone he could stand _ not _seeing in person. Looks like he wouldn’t be avoiding that today.

He strolled out of his office, catching the heat of Ava’s oh-so-friendly targeted glower. He tugged at his tie - damn thing was always too tight - and made a wide circle around the field of cubicles. He took his time, stopping for a quick chat with Ethan.

But he knew he had to face the bulldog sooner rather than later. Connor knocked on the doorway of Latham’s poorly-lit cave, then stepped in.

“Connor,” the man’s deep voice boomed. “Please.” He motioned toward the seat in front of his massive desk.

Connor sat and squinted. It was a wonder the dude got any paperwork done in here. “You asked for me?”

“Yes.” Latham rested his elbows on the smooth oak surface and touched his fingertips like he was the Godfather. Probably thought he was a mafia boss. (And, speaking technically, he kind of was.) “I wanted to know how you’ve perceived the progress of our newest hire.”

Connor couldn’t help the surprised “oh” that slipped off his tongue. Then he clamped his mouth shut, scraping for the right words. He knew he couldn’t lie. It wouldn’t be right. With a hint of resignation, he said, “Well, uh, Ava Bekker is a very good assistant. She keeps items organized and gets assignments done promptly. Her work ethic is commendable. I can’t... particularly complain.”

Latham held his gaze. “Particularly?”

“She is... she does have a bit of an abrasive personality. Nothing I can’t handle, though,” Connor said. He stunned himself somewhat by how he brushed it off.

The older man nodded. “Well, that’s good to hear. Because I was thinking of sending her along with you on your next longer excursion to New York. Your father is in favor of it.” Connor tried not to wince at the mention of his dad. Of course, Latham wasn’t at the very top of the totem pole.

“Oh?” he croaked out.

“Yes, I think this... ‘vacation’ will be an adequate impromptu exam for her. I would like you to watch over her and see how she performs in an outside environment under some pressure. It isn’t always easy being a salesman, after all.” Latham shot him one of his signature smiles that looked like it pained him to display. Connor did his best to return it.

“Alright, sir. Sounds like a fun challenge.”

Connor was not looking forward to informing Ava of their little upcoming trip. Personally, he thought it would be hilarious if he waited until the last possible minute to tell her, just like they always did to him. He’d show up at her desk with her plane ticket and say, “Hope you can pack in thirty seconds, ‘cause that’s the amount of time we have to get to the airport!”

But no, that wasn’t professional. So later that day, soon before quitting time, he wandered the couple feet over from his door to her little cubicle of inexplicable wrath.

“Hey,” he said, leaning on the gray wall. Keeping his curiosity subtle, he scanned over her space and noticed sparse decor and only one picture pinned up. He felt kind of stupid standing there like that, shoulder digging into the ugly cubicle, eyes on her.

“Yeah?” she said, turning from her screen. “What?”

“We’re going to New York City on March 6th.”

She blinked at him. “We?”

“Yes, we. You’ve been assigned to accompany me for my sales presentation there in a couple weeks. You should be flattered. I couldn’t tell you the last time a newbie was ever asked to come on a trip this soon in their career with us.” All too late, he bit his tongue to stop the torrent of praise. Ugh, gross. What was he doing?

Ava opened and closed her mouth like a fish ripped from the water. He half-expected something like “Don’t tell me to be flattered,” and he saw something in that vein gleaming in her eyes, but all she actually said was “Thank you. I’ll be ready.”

“Mhmm. You, uh, should be ready.” He straightened to leave, but halted and threw one much-needed zinger over his shoulder. “And try to resist the smokes while we’re there, okay?”

“I don’t smoke,” she retorted.

Facing away from her, he rolled his eyes and headed off to the front desk. He draped his torso over the desk, straining to place his hands over Robin’s eyes. “Guess who?”

She giggled. “I know who you are, Mr. Rhodes.”


	4. day twenty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note there is mention of sexual content in this chapter. it's not explicit at all but it's there! (and unfortunately it's not rhekker related :/)

It was a little less than a week before the big dreaded trip. It wasn’t often that Connor had ample time to prepare for an out-of-town presentation (or even in-town presentations, come to think of it), so he was making the most out of his time. Or, at least, he was trying to.

Robin kept finding excuses to visit him in his office. And if he wasn’t in his office, she’d track him down in the break room. Her mouth was magnetically attracted to his, and he wasn’t positive if that attraction went both ways, but he wasn’t about to _ not _find out and test the waters.

Yeah, he still had _ plenty _of time to get ready. And if there was something leftover he couldn’t get done, he could just dump it on Ava. She seemed to like diving into work the same way Robin’s hand liked diving into his pants. Connor paused and wiped the sweat off his brow; no, wait, he shouldn’t think about it that way. Yikes.

But Connor was gradually mastering the art of self-control, or so he believed. (This had to count for something, right?) He had been put to the test one afternoon a few days after Latham told him he’d be going to New York with Miss Priss. Robin had sauntered in and softly shut the door. Connor recognized the smoldering sultriness in her eyes, but before he could utter a word, she’d slipped past his legs and crouched below his desk.

He had almost stopped her, but then she pulled his zipper down and there was little else he could do but be pleasured. A fresh wave of sweat sprung up at his hairline. He knew how open his office was to the main room; glass panels surrounded him on three walls, including the door. But it seemed no one had noticed her sneak in, and from where he was sitting, Ava’s desk looked vacant.

So he’d closed his eyes and let himself melt into the moment, hoping any unaware onlookers would assume he was catching a quick nap.

Then his door was flung open with a force that cast a powerful stupor over the room. Ava stood at the threshold, a thick stack of papers clutched in one hand; shit, she must’ve been in the copy room when Robin came in. That would be the only way the office bloodhound hadn’t spotted her, since Ava had impressive hearing and tracking skills.

Connor’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head. Panic roared through his blood, creating a searing wave that made it feel like his temples could burst. Instinctively he scooted his chair forward, and the faintest of thunks paired with a hushed “_ow _” sounded when Robin, concealed in the foot space beneath his desk, hit her head. Ava’s nostrils flared, as if she was already trailing the receptionist’s scent.

But she said nothing about the peculiar noise, and instead looked pointedly at him. “Were you asleep, Connor?”

“No!”

“Well, it looked like you were.” Dropping the subject, Ava came up to his desk and set down the papers, which she had separated into two piles. “One pile for you, one pile for me.” She kept her packet and turned to go, but for some idiotic reason Connor spoke again.

“Wait! I, uh...” He hesitated - Robin was still going strong and he was getting close - “I, um, um, what-- what are these for again?”

He knew he had to look flushed and drenched in sweat, and her bewildered expression corresponded with that assumption. “You asked for them yourself, I would think you know what they’re for. But whatever. We’re supposed to fill out--”

Connor steamrolled over her sentence as he reminded himself what was happening underneath his desk with Ava _ still _in the room. “Right, n- never mind. You can go now.”

He almost missed Ava’s eye roll when she again turned to leave. Then she stopped, and feeding his intense exasperation, glanced back at him. “By the way, I _ am _calling you Connor now, if you were curious.” Then she was gone.

In the next ten seconds, before the door had even fully shut, he came. He was positively liquified, reduced to an exhausted puddle on his desk. He leaned forward, trying to catch his breath. He hadn’t even noticed she used his first name when she came in. What kind of milestone had they hit for _ that _to happen?

Then he remembered who else was occupying the room with him still, and he pushed his chair back.

“S- sorry for bumping your head,” he panted. “There was a, uh... an interruption.”

“No worries,” Robin said. She grinned adoringly up at him. “Did you like it?” she then asked, voice reduced to a whisper.

Connor nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah... it was great.” He couldn’t help the swift glance he sent through the glass to the closest cubicle, but there wasn’t any spying going on as far as he could tell. Thank god.

That was about a week ago, and now he found himself in yet another compromising position. The twelfth floor as a whole was pretty open, but one place that had solid, non-glass walls was the break room. Connor was pressed up against the fridge in there, letting himself be caressed and his neck endlessly kissed. It was enjoyable enough, and he was watching water dripping from a leak in the corner of the ceiling when the door to the room opened. 

This time, he didn’t panic as much because the fridge was tucked in the back, and from the entrance he knew they wouldn’t be visible where they were. Still, he touched Robin’s shoulder and lightly pushed her away, wordlessly signaling to stay still and silent.

There was some shuffling at the sink, then the person came over to rummage through the fridge. Connor’s heart was in his throat. And then came that unmistakable arrogant accent:

“You two really must be dull to think you can have a makeout session in a public place and not be noticed.” _ How? _How did she do it? Ava closed the fridge door firmly and leaned around it to grin kindly at them. “But of course, I mean no disrespect.”

Connor was seething, and he knew it was visible because her smile only grew. “Carry on, Ms. Bekker,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she said before heading out with a container of salad in hand.

That woman was going to be the end of him.

* * *

Most days when heading into work, Ava had noticed a cafe, Maggie’s Macarons, just down the street from the office building. One Monday evening after work, she decided to try it out.

It was close to 5:30, and when she came up to the door she didn’t catch the posted hours that said the place closed at 5:30. She walked in, and a bell on top of the door announced her arrival to an empty dining room.

Ava froze as it slowly dawned on her that there was a chance the cafe could be closing up for the night. Then, as if she heard the unasked question in Ava’s head, a worker appeared from the back and started to frown apologetically at her. “I’m sorry, but we’re clo--” Then she stopped short, and a smile shattered her previous expression. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise! Are you two together? Please, come in.”

_ You two? _Ava stepped backward, confused, and her heel dug into the foot of someone behind her. In fact, her entire body backed into the entire body of someone else. She spun around, brows knitted, and saw none other than Connor Rhodes.

“Jesus!” she grumbled, touching her chest while Connor stared back at her, apparently equally baffled.

“Well, that’s quite a flattering nickname. Thank you,” he quipped. He looked past her to the cafe employee. “And thank _ you_, Maggie, but she and I aren’t togeth--”

Ava cut into his correction. “We _ are_, as a matter of fact, together, but we’re just colleagues, nothing more.” She tilted her head up and grinned at him, layering the fake sweetness on thick. “Right, Connor?”

Maggie scurried over and welcomed them in, flipping the lights back on. “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of macarons left in the case... or if you want a sandwich freshly prepared I can whip it up real quick.” She paused, eyes rolling to the ceiling and one finger raised as she thought. “Oh, just nothing with turkey, though. We’re fresh out.”

Ava saw Connor deflate slightly, and she snorted. “Oh, heavens. They’re out of his precious turkey caprese panini. Whatever shall we do?”

Maggie smiled awkwardly. Connor ignored Ava for the moment and told the other woman, “Can you just make my usual with roast beef instead?” Maggie nodded and headed to the back, leaving them alone in the cramped dining room. Ava was sure it was a cozy place during the day at its busiest hours; the tables were arranged haphazardly around the room so that it was impossible to cut a straight path through them. A fading scent of something sweet and warm, like pecan pie, lingered in the air. There was a distinct something here that made the place feel comfortable and lived-in. That was why Ava found it such a shock that the cold-blooded Porsche Prince frequently took refuge here, apparently.

Immediately he turned on her. “Why do I keep running into you everywhere I go?”

She shrugged. “It’s not like I asked to see your face here. I just wanted to get some dinner before going home.”

He crossed his arms. “You couldn’t just go to the Au Bon Pain around the corner?”

“Couldn’t you?”

“No, I always go here,” he retorted. “I know Maggie well, she’s the owner of this place.” (Like she couldn’t tell from the name above the door outside?)

Ava nodded, as if she suddenly saw right through him (she wished she could. It could explain a lot of the assholery). “Ah, yes, capitalize on your friendship to gain after-hours access--”

“You just did the same thing!”

“I don’t think what _ we _ have could be called a friendship. So all I capitalized on was your friendship with Maggie, which you were already taking advantage of yourself.”

Connor hid his face in his hands for a moment, massaging his visibly throbbing temples. “J- just tell me, _ why_” - he looked through his fingers at her, slowly sliding his hands down his cheeks - “you _ insist _ on tormenting me.”

“Well I think ‘torment’ is a strong word--”

Maggie appeared out of thin air beside them, holding up Connor’s sandwich on a plate. “Here’s your usual with roast beef, Connor.” She didn’t seem to waver in the snarling face of their paused argument, and Ava couldn’t help but admire the woman for that. The cafe owner turned to her expectantly, and she realized that she hadn’t ordered yet. A hungry grumble in her stomach reminded her of this fact as well.

“Oh, um... w- what do you recommend?” she stammered. She’d been too busy wasting her breath on an idiot to glance at the menu overhead. She caught a muttered curse from Connor as he slunk away to a back corner with his food.

“I make a fantastic broccoli cheddar soup if I do say so myself,” Maggie said. “I still have some warmed up in the back, if that’s what you would like.”

Ava nodded, suddenly eager to make her exit from here. She could feel a stony glare on her back as she approached the register to pay. Maggie was back in the record time with a to-go container of homemade soup. “Is that all?”

“Actually...” Ava hummed in thought, leaning over to peer through the glass case at the last of the day’s macaron cookies. Wow, those did look good... “I’ll take all the rest of your macarons.”

Maggie’s eyes bugged out of her head. “Really?”

“Yep. Pistachio, red velvet, vanilla, whatever you have... I’ll take it.”

It took a few minutes for her order to be packaged up to go, and by the time she had paid, Connor had inhaled his sandwich. He thanked Maggie, paid, and Ava thought she saw him slip a twenty dollar bill into the tip jar. He was apparently holding a continuous competition with himself to see how many times he could surprise her in one night - because next thing she knew, he was holding the door for her.

“Um... thanks?” she said. She slid past him and hefted the soup container and cookie box higher up against her chest.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I hold the door for the person who just stole my dessert?” Connor’s tone seemed lighter, though the annoyed glint in his eyes didn’t quite match it.

She stopped on the sidewalk and rotated to face him. “As if you were going to eat _ all _these cookies yourself.”

He stepped down off the stoop and let the door close behind him. “And you are?”

She shrugged. “I’ll work my way through them.”

“How long will that take?”

“Don’t underestimate how quickly I can eat a few cookies, Connor. You should have some kind of idea - you basically ate that sandwich in one bite.”

He sighed and took his time undoing his tie, sliding it behind his neck and stuffing it in an inner pocket of his jacket. “I’m just saying, because macarons only keep for three days. Technically it’s a week, that’s what Google will tell you, but they’re super reactive to moisture in the air, so--”

“In case you didn’t catch it from the look on my face, I don’t care. I’m going home now because my soup’s getting cold. Good night,” she said. Ava forced herself not to sneak a glance at his face before she turned on her heel and began marching away. She nudged her scarf up so it was covering her lower face before frostbite could nibble her nose off.

She made it ten strides away when a gasp slithered through the icy air to her unprepared ears. Ava looked back over her shoulder and saw him crouched over, one hand pressed to his chest. Her heart slammed at her ribcage, and suddenly she was too hot for comfort in her heavy coat and wool hat. She jogged back over to him and practically threw the cookies on the ground. “Connor? Are you okay?” she demanded.

He waved her off. “I’m fine. I just have a sore chest still, from the...” He let out a long exhale before going on. “From the car accident three weeks ago. Bruised from the airbag _ and _pulled a muscle somehow.”

Ava almost wondered aloud if perhaps his frisky activities with Robin were doing more harm than good to his injury, but she bit her tongue. After all, she was a participant (however unintentional) in said car accident. “Oh, okay...” she mumbled. “Um, you’re sure it’s not... something more serious? Because chest pains usually mean heart problems--”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted. “Don’t worry about me. It’s all superficial.” He started to rise again, holding out an arm to steady himself.

“Trust me, I won’t waste my worry on you,” Ava shot back. But as soon as the words left her mouth, she felt ashamed. There was no reason to be _ that _ nasty. “I mean... sorry, I’m very tired.” She rubbed her forehead and yawned as if to emphasize the point. “Look, I... I know you’re not all bad. I _ did _see that twenty you dropped in Maggie’s tip jar.”

Connor smoothed out his wrinkled shirt and met her eyes. She caught a refreshed twinkle somewhere in the sea of blue. “I only tipped her that much because she had to deal with you.”

Ava’s jaw dropped, but she swiftly shut it again. “Well,” she huffed. “Okay. Message received.” She bent to pick up the box of cookies. But before she could bring herself to walk away, she paused and grabbed his gaze again. “Just one more thing. Since you did complain that I was taking your dessert, I might as well put it out there that I know there are some peanut butter and chocolate macarons in here, and I can’t stand peanut butter, so... if you want those... I think there are like two of them.”

She popped open the box and Connor scanned over them. “It’s just a matter of telling which one is which,” she began, but he cut her off, already having a couple of cookies tucked into his palm.

“I can tell my macarons apart, thanks,” he said. He looked ready to take off and leave her standing there, but then he nodded at her in gratitude. “Uh, thanks,” he repeated. He walked away into the chilly night, his black jacket making him disappear faster. And she still she stood there, watching him for longer than she would ever admit, before finally heading home too.


	5. day twenty-nine (part one)

The flight to New York was just over two hours, and it went swimmingly, with the plane landing on the runway soon after nine in the morning. Or, well, it went as swimmingly as it could with Ava and Connor sitting next to each other.

When she moved from South Africa to the U.S., that was the first plane ride she had ever been on. Seeing that this was only her second experience, she acted like an eager child for the entire duration, insisting on getting the window seat and peering out said window whenever she thought Connor wasn’t looking.

He knew she could tell he was irritated about having to sit in the middle. “I don’t care, you can sit in the aisle seat and have a stranger in between us,” she’d told him before taking off, talking between glances out the window at the gray Chicago sky outside.

“No, it’s fine,” he sighed, jerking his seatbelt across his lap. Of course his father’s company’s cheapness showed at the most vulnerable places: when told they would have to cover the difference between a regular coach ticket and first class, Ava refused to pay up and said coach would be just fine. So now here Connor was, sitting with the most annoying woman in the world on his left, a sweaty stranger on his right, about one inch of legroom, and no glass of champagne in his hand. (And yes, he could have ditched her and grabbed a first class seat for just himself, but the thought of that made his heart sink for some reason.)

“I don’t need to be babysat, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she snapped.

“Nope. Not at all.” Connor grunted, straining to retrieve his briefcase from the tight space under the seat in front of him. “In fact, I should stay right here because there are some papers we have to look over before we get there. So I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”

She gave an exaggerated groan and sent a stinging eye roll in his direction. “Oh, _ lovely._”

Then, by what she later claimed to be a crazy coincidence, Ava proceeded to catnap through the next twenty minutes, and by the time she roused he had put all his things away and was in the middle of watching a movie on his laptop. When she poked his shoulder and lifted her eyebrows at him expectantly, he had a feeling she knew just what she was doing, and that she knew the exact answer to expect from him.

“We’ll just do it later, at the hotel,” he growled.

And now, they were moving briskly through JFK Airport, and apparently it was Christmas because the place seemed busier than ever. Connor turned sideways to squeeze past a cluster of people stopped at a board telling arrivals and departures. “Okay, so the car should be waiting for us just outside here. They said Pickup Platform B.” Ava just nodded silently at him and let him lead the way, smartly keeping any unnecessary comments to herself.

They burst through the sliding doors to a wet and chilly covered area crowded with people and cars at the curb. Connor scanned up and down, already knowing what kind of car to look for. He walked several feet along the sidewalk, vaguely aware of Ava following him like a lost puppy, until at last he spotted a black Lincoln sedan parked with a man in a suit leaning against it.

“Mr. Rhodes,” the driver said when they came up to him. He was bald and had a strong Brooklyn accent. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He turned to Ava expectantly.

“Ava Bekker, my assistant,” Connor introduced her. He ignored her indignant look - it was probably just because he didn’t let her introduce herself. _ Too bad, _ he thought, _ she should’ve just spoken up quicker. _

“Pleasure,” the driver said while he and Ava shook hands. “I’m Ron, I’ll be the escort for you and Mr. Rhodes for the duration of your stay here in New York. Welcome.”

Ron stowed their luggage in the car’s trunk, but not before opening the doors to the backseat for them to climb inside. Connor settled in behind the empty passenger seat, propping his bag in the narrow space between him and Ava.

“Just so you know,” she said softly, glancing behind them to make sure Ron was still at the trunk, “I can speak for myself, Connor.”

“Then please do,” he responded. He popped open the briefcase and from it removed the outer jacket of his suit, which was folded neatly on top, freshly pressed. As he slid either arm through it, he shot her a look and said, “You know, I was just worried you might spit out some snarky remark. First impressions are everything.”

She arched a brow at him. “You’re one to talk about first impressions.” He felt her eyes follow his hands as he dug a tie out from the bag and started to slide it around his neck. “Well, don’t be so quick to hang yourself because of me. I don’t think there’s room to stand in here.”

“Ha, ha.” Connor finished tying it and tightened it accordingly. “Why didn’t you go into the comedy industry? I could see you up on the SNL stage cracking everyone up with your offensive jokes.”

Ava frowned. “SNL? What in the world is that?”

“Saturday Night Live? It’s a sketch show. They film it here in New York, actually.” He couldn’t shame her for not knowing about it; she wasn’t from here, after all. “You should watch it next weekend. You might as well at least try to understand the context of how I’m making fun of you.”

“Making fun? Oh, no, I took that as a compliment.”

“I’m sure you did.”

It was like Ron had taken his time with the suitcases so that their time alone in the car was maximized. By the time the driver got behind the wheel and gradually merged into the traffic heading away from the airport, Connor sighed. His tie was already feeling tight around his neck and he had only just put it on. 

* * *

Counting in Monday morning city traffic, it took nearly an hour to get to the hotel, a Wyndham situated on a quieter side street. For the entire ride over, Ava gazed out the window and soaked in every aspect of another new American city. It was a bit more colorful than Chicago, but also a lot dirtier. It seemed that for every huge screen displayed on the side of a building, there were fifty bits of trash in the street. Trash overflowing out of garbage cans, trash catching the breeze and blowing along like tumbleweeds, trash falling from the sky (okay, that one was a stretch). 

Still, though, it was quite remarkable and really unlike anything she would ever see back home. Behind the outer layer of garbage waited opportunity, and the mere thought of that thrilled her. It reminded her just why she was now making a living on this side of the Atlantic.

Ron pulled over at the curb, and before long he had bid them goodbye and they were passing through the sleek glass doors to the hotel lobby. Connor strode up to the front desk, and briefly Ava couldn’t help but wonder if he wished it was Robin behind the front desk. He always seemed to love seeing her. She bet he was missing her right this moment.

While Connor checked them into their rooms, Ava stood nearby and admired the impeccably clean and modern lobby. It was a stark contrast from the gritty city landscape just outside. She was pulled out of her stupor by Connor’s now slightly raised voice.

“Room? You mean _ rooms, _ right?” He was blinking at a bellboy, forehead crinkled up like tissue paper. The employee was loading up their things onto a luggage cart, but he paused and glanced at the front desk clerk for help.

“Um, Mr. Rhodes,” the clerk said, waving so he would look back at her, “I’m sorry, but we were under the impression that only one room was needed.”

“No,” Connor said, shaking his head. “No, that’s not right. Why-- w- were two rooms not specified?”

“No--”

“Because that should’ve been specifically specified.” Connor raked a hand through his hair. What had been perfectly gelled back a few minutes ago was now coming loose, dark sprigs falling onto his forehead. It was a strange sight, because Ava had honestly imagined he woke up that way: dress shirt and tie for pajamas, hair smooth and flawless 24/7. Now she was starting to see how maybe that look didn’t suit him so much; he always looked like he had a stick up his ass. Perhaps it was just that he was uncomfortable.

His eyes found Ava’s, and the look shared between them was like lasers. She forced herself to tear away and turn to the clerk instead. “Well, we don’t have to make a big deal about it. Could we just have two separate rooms instead?”

“Y- yeah, two separate rooms,” Connor repeated. The unneeded emphasis made her skin prickle.

“I deeply apologize, but...” The clerk clicked a few things and looked over her computer screen again, worry reflecting back on the lenses of her glasses. “We are booked solid tonight. I’ll be able to reserve a second room for you tomorrow after eleven o’clock, but for now all we have left for you is the king suite.”

Connor fell forward onto the desk, his elbows crashing against the black granite. “And... how many beds...”

“There is one king-size bed, sir.”

Now he refused to look at anyone, apparently preferring his shoes. Ava rolled her eyes. Yes, this situation sucked, but he was acting like a kid in the candy aisle of the grocery store being told ‘no.’ 

After close to a minute of painfully awkward silence, Ava leaned over and snatched up their room key cards. “Well, since he’s still busy processing his tantrum, I guess I’ll get these.” Before she headed off to the elevator, she looked back over her shoulder and added, “And yes, we would like to have that second room tomorrow morning. Thank you.”

She maintained pleasant conversation with the bellboy during the elevator ride up, while Connor was fascinated by his phone. Once their stuff was unloaded in the room and they were once more alone, Ava crossed her arms and glared at him. “Will you calm down? It’s not the end of the world.” She gestured at the sofa in front of the TV, on the other side of the large bed. “Look. I’m sure that’s a pull-out bed.”

“It’s not... it’s not the end of the world,” Connor said. He played with the tail of his tie and bit his lip. “This is just not the service I expect as a high-ranking member of Dolen Rhodes. I mean, Wyndham already wasn’t my first choice, but...” He began to pace back and forth, muttering more to himself than to her. “Four-star hotel, my ass. I’d tell my father about this, but he couldn’t give less of a shit...”

Ava disregarded him and went over to the couch. She took off the cushions and nodded affirmatively. “A-ha! Yep, it is a pull-out bed.” She spun back towards him. “So you’ll be plenty comfortable.”

Connor’s face fell even further, if it was possible. “So _ I’m _the one sleeping on the couch?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Well--” He stopped and eyed the bed. “I mean, at least it _ is _a king-sized bed, right...?”

“No. Absolutely not. Sharing a bed with my boss is not on my bucket list, sorry.” Ava roamed over to her suitcase and unzipped it, beginning to dig through it. 

He glowered at her, face scrunched up like a pug’s. She inwardly cringed at that comparison, because then... well, wouldn’t that mean she thought he was cute when he was angry? Yikes. “So, you’re comfortable constantly antagonizing your boss, but sleeping nearby me is where you draw the line?” Connor taunted. He rearranged several of the down-filled pillows so that there was a fluffy barrier down the center of the bed. “Here. Now there’s a pillow wall. Better?”

Ava found her toiletries bag and stood up again, placing one hand on her hip. “Actually, maybe you should sleep in the hall,” she suggested.

“That would be _ perfect, _ thanks for the idea,” he returned. “I can request a cot, at least that’s more of an actual bed than a fold-out couch thing.”

“Okay, you do that.” She wandered into the bathroom. “Or I would suggest the tub, but there’s only a shower stall in here, so if you enjoy sleeping standing like a horse, there’s that too.” Ava shut the door and swallowed a groan when she saw herself in the mirror. She was fired up, if her wild hair and ruddy cheeks were any evidence. She took a few minutes to touch up her makeup, which she had applied minimally much earlier that morning back in Chicago. She knew there was a gala they had to attend tonight, so hopefully this face would stay mostly in place until then.

By the time she emerged ten minutes later, she was cautious. The room had grown suspiciously quiet while she was in there, and now she knew why. Connor was lounging on the bed, ankles crossed and head burrowed in the mountain of pillows.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.

“We didn’t officially call dibs, so...” He adjusted himself and spread his arms wide over the entire width of the bed. “Now I make my move. Dibs on the bed.”

Ava shook her head in disgust and didn’t answer. She dropped her bag back by her things and stared coolly at him. “So what’s next on the agenda?”

Connor grinned. “Ooh, subject change. Okay.” He picked up his phone and scrolled through it. “We have our presentation first thing, and that meeting starts at one.”

“Sounds great,” she said tightly. She couldn’t wait to get out of this cursed room.


	6. day twenty-nine (part two)

The gala that night was a turning point, because it would be announced there whether or not the board of administrators of the hospital they presented to earlier would purchase their medical part.

The presentation seemed to go well, according to Ava’s fairly unaccustomed eyes. Connor was suave as ever, smooth-talking and keeping good eye contact. He (somewhat grudgingly, she might add) let her step in to expand on a few points. That was good because it gave her a definite reason to be there. Otherwise she couldn’t have been sure why she was in New York - and the actual reason damn well better not have been so she could stand next to the charming salesman and look pretty.

She and Connor made their appearance in the hotel ballroom downstairs, walking in together. She refused to walk around holding his arm or anything ridiculous like that. Still, the favoring looks people were shooting them as they entered made her worry that she and him were giving off quite a different impression than intended. (Her in a dress that was too good for her, him in a black suit with a bowtie, eyes bluer than usual in the presence of so many adoring fans.)

Because he knew everyone, she mostly stuck by him. Ava made sure to stand beside him, not behind him. She wanted her presence to be known, and people she recognized from the meeting recognized her too, knew her as more than just the assistant to the V.P. And she liked that.

Several minutes into the meal, Ava wandered back over to the table where the mostly picked-over hors d’oeuvres were. There had been something with prosciutto that she’d really liked and was secretly hoping to find a few more bites of. While she was standing there, searching over the table in the dim light, she felt someone else come up next to her.

“What are you trying to find?” Ava glanced up and into the toasty brown gaze of another woman who was around her age, maybe a little younger. She looked quite youthful, with smooth skin, bright eyes, and hair with curls that went on forever. She had an innocent kind of beauty to her, something Ava wished she still possessed.

“I really liked the prosciutto things,” Ava said. She returned her eyes to the table, but found them flashing back up again to the other woman. “Those were... um, really good.”

Curls nodded. “Ha, yeah, that’s funny. That’s what I was looking for too.” A pretty hand with pretty, meticulously-painted purple nails floated into Ava’s line of vision. Her nails were matte and matched the shade of her dress. “I’m Sarah.” 

They shook hands and the chatter around them became dull, distant humming. Ava put all her focus on Sarah, and suddenly things were a lot hazier. “Ava,” she said, definitely holding her hand longer than needed. But Sarah didn’t seem to mind.

“Where, uh, where are you from? You sound...” Sarah trailed off sheepishly, like it was a terribly rude thing to ask. Ava was still getting used to being surrounded by people who thought she sounded different. Being directly asked was better than someone assuming she was a “weird dialect of British.” (Yes, that was what some asshole told her once. Their smug look faded when she reminded them that British wasn’t a language, so it couldn’t have a dialect.)

“South Africa,” Ava told her. “Port Elizabeth, specifically.” She was looking at Sarah so much she actually forgot for a split second where she was from. There were certain people, Ava found, where when she looked at them, she kind of forgot everything about herself. Connor was another one of those people, but it was just because he pissed her off so much.

They talked for a few more minutes until someone got up behind the microphone on the stage, a single spotlight focused on them. Ava and Sarah froze by the table, their conversation temporarily set aside and the prosciutto thingies long forgotten.

The man, a surgeon-turned-CEO whose name just escaped Ava, cut to the chase almost immediately. “... with that said, we are pleased to announce our partnership with Dolen Rhodes Inc. We are beyond impressed with their brand-new, state-of-the-art pacemaker and we have full confidence that this decision is the best possible decision for our arrhythmic patients’ health as well as the future of the hospital. The company, founded by the acclaimed Dr. Cornelius Rhodes nearly twenty-five years ago, is renowned for its...”

Ava tuned back out, too giddy to listen. Where was Connor? He had to be ecstatic, and she kind of wanted to see the look on his face. After all, it would be refreshing to see him not looking all grumpy for once.

Sarah appeared to sense Ava’s disconnect. There was a beat of hesitation, then Sarah grabbed her hand and stared at her. Oh yes, they were definitely on the same page.

“Here, put your number in my phone,” Sarah murmured into her ear. Before she pulled back, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind Ava’s ear. Ava could barely breathe as she held this near stranger’s device in her hands and plugged in her name and number. Then they parted ways, brushing past each other meaningfully. If there was a way out of playing sleepover with Connor tonight, Ava sure as hell was taking it. It did help that she would be with a very attractive someone.

It was weird, but oddly welcome. She had met a few people since coming to the U.S., but none had lasted. She hadn’t dated anyone since before she left South Africa, and she hadn’t been to bed with anyone since her last boyfriend -

_ No. Stop. _ She kept repeating the words in her head, fierce and commanding, until she found Connor again in the spacious room.

* * *

Connor was hugely relieved, so much so that he felt as if he could melt into a relieved puddle and slither out of this restrictive suit. The expressions on the administrators at the end of his (no, their) presentation had been promising, and now his expectations were confirmed. Good.

He was just glad he didn’t have to make a speech or anything like that. He didn’t have the energy to do that tonight. So instead, he just stood and humbly folded his hands behind his back when the announcement was made. Then his father’s name was mentioned and he wanted to crumple back down onto his chair. 

Ava had disappeared a little while ago. Not that Connor noticed, really. It was just that one second, she’d been hovering next to him at the table, elbow to elbow, then the next she was gone. He just assumed she went to the restroom, but when twenty minutes went by he began to think otherwise. Well damn, maybe he should’ve been “babysitting” her more closely.

So he walked around from table to table and mingled amongst various meaningless versions of small talk. He tried to avoid discussing the product as much, because that took stores of energy he didn’t have anymore.

Then out of nowhere she was beside him again, and he nearly jumped at her congratulations.

“Oh! There you are,” he said. He remembered when she had walked out of the bathroom in the hotel room a couple hours earlier. That shimmering crimson gown paired with the same color lipstick. The caramel blonde hair gathered into a bun. The needle-thin choker necklace and the high heels. Something had stirred deep in his stomach when he laid his eyes on her - but then he’d gotten a text from Robin, Robin back in Chicago, the person he was currently with, more or less. And Ava had offered him nothing more than her typical haughty manner and a terse, “Let’s go.”

Now she still looked pretty pristine, but distracted. “Yes, here I am,” she said pointedly. “What, am I not permitted to go off by myself? Don’t worry, I didn’t get lost.”

Connor looked somewhere past her, trying to swallow his heart back down. She could make his blood pressure spike like nothing else. “Well, it... is a big room,” he countered.

“But seriously, congratulations,” she said, abruptly changing the subject back. She was staring deeply into him and he had to return the eye contact. “Your presentation was impressive earlier.”

He smiled uncertainly at her. He was ready to be hit with an ambush after the compliment, but it never came. “Uh, thanks.”

The gala came to a close soon after, and they headed back up to the room. There was just one more night after this one; one more night and one more stupid dressy event.

As they neared the room, Connor was reminded of the crappy sleeping situation. He exhaled heavily. Right. This was going to be fun.

The second they came through the door, she kicked off her heels and tossed them down by her stuff. He heard her own sigh of relief, lungs releasing sharply like balloons. He stood in the open space, glanced from her to the roomy bed, then gave in.

“Hey, listen... if you want the bed you can have it.” It physically pained him to say it, but he did it.

“Oh?” She twisted around from where she was crouched at her open suitcase. “Thanks.”

They breathed together in silence and slowly got ready for bed. Connor brewed a cup of decaf on the cheap little Keurig. He asked if she wanted coffee. She said no, thanks.

Ava stepped out of the bathroom in a flannel pajama top and plain yoga pants. His eyes followed the middle of the shirt, to how far down the buttons were undone, then he stopped. He felt gross. She wasn’t there for him to look at, and she knew it and he knew it. He stared at his phone and answered Robin’s texts as they arrived.

“So,” she spoke up many minutes later. It had been an hour, at least; his coffee was down to lukewarm dregs and he was swirling it around in the plain white mug when she spoke. He looked up and gave her his attention. She was cross-legged at the foot of the bed.

“So?” he said.

“It really was your father who founded the company, huh?” 

“Yep,” he said. There was a quiet _ ding. _Robin sent him a gif of a puppy. That was cute. But he kept his phone locked.

Hazel eyes observed him, and he squirmed. “You don’t seem to like him much.”

“I don’t. He’s an asshole.”

“He’s the founder of a company that produces medical parts that save millions of lives every year, and he’s an asshole.”

“He just is, Ava.”

She seemed to have a reply ready, but then her phone went off. Connor’s eyes darted back down to the puppy gif.

“You can have the bed after all,” she told him.

And again, Connor blinked over at her. “What? Are you sure?”

“I’m leaving,” Ava said. She slid off the bed, full of energy again. He could practically see the electricity crackling through the ends of her hair. “The room is all yours, have some gratitude.”

“Gratitude...?” He was dumbfounded. He shook his head. “You’re leaving?”

Ava snorted. “Why do you look like you’ve witnessed your damaged Porsche all over again? I thought you’d be happy to see me go.” She bent over her suitcase and gathered a few essentials. “I met someone, if you must know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Just like that, she was gone. Connor really felt the hard, lumpy mattress of the couch-bed under his butt now. He didn’t waste time transferring to the better bed, noting how she left the sheets a rumpled, undone mess for him. Perfect.

He laid back and watched the light on the smoke detector blink again and again. _ You’ve only known her for a month, Rhodes, _ he told himself. _ Slow down. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, folks, this is a slow burn, and that means there will be other relationships before we reach our endgame. (sorry!) and yes, folks, ava is hella bi. (not sorry about that one!)


	7. day one hundred & ninety-one

“Did you hear Latham finally hired someone to fill Lanik’s position?”

Ava perked up from where she was sitting at the breakroom table, picking at a leftover Panera salad that was reduced to limp lettuce and stale dressing. (Ugh, this is what she deserved for not getting a salad from Maggie’s.) 

If Will wasn’t bullshitting, this was great news to hear. It had already been good news when Jimmy Lanik quit a few months ago; he had always been so uptight, usually even more so than Connor, which was saying something. He was Latham’s little suck-up who often picked up a lot of his superior’s duties. One of his favorite habits had been shaming anyone who came in late by covering their computer and desk in scornful sticky notes spelling out “LATE” a million times over. So, needless to say, he was not missed.

Ethan sipped from his paper cone of water and raised his brows. “Really? Who is it?”

“I’m not sure what her name is, but I do know for sure that it’s a _ her._” Ava felt Will’s eyes land on her. “Looks like you won’t be the new girl around here anymore, Ava.”

She swallowed a bite and chuckled. “Don’t tell me you all still see me as the ‘new girl’ after six months.”

“Well...”

“I mean, it’s always been hard for me personally to see you as the new girl, since you’ve been roasting Connor non stop from day one,” Ethan said, and they all laughed.

Ava stood up and dumped what little remained of her salad into the trash. “Hey, it was in the job description,” she said, shrugging innocently. “And I take my job _ very _seriously.”

She was about to head out when the third guy standing by the water cooler called out to her. “Hey, you gonna go for a smoke? We still got fifteen minutes.”

Ava froze and looked back. Crockett Marcel, the most ruggedly handsome of the twelfth-floor men, had his intense gaze fixed on her. He was the kind of person who got away with a lot: he parked in one of the spaces reserved for company administrators, his tie was always loosely undone, and his sleeves were always rolled up past his elbows to show off his hairy, olive-skinned arms. Ava wondered if he groomed his arm hair, because it looked so soft and touchable. She could imagine him dragging a comb through it, treating it as carefully as he treated the hair on his head.

There were a million thoughts running through her mind, but in reality barely a heartbeat passed before she answered him with a swift “Sure.”

Once they were outside in the courtyard, Ava chickened out on actually smoking. They were out in the fresh air, and the trees were heavy with green leaves and there were birds chirping and squirrels scurrying around and she just _ really _didn’t want to suffocate all that with clouds of nicotine. Still, she leaned on the wall by Crockett and watched him light up.

“You gonna...?” he asked, gesturing vaguely with his lighter.

“Oh, no... I- I’m actually trying to quit,” she admitted.

“Ah.” He tipped his head back and breathed out nice and slow. Predatory as ever, the imaginary tobacco feathers tickled and stung the skin of her face, then blew away with the warm breeze until his next exhale. There was a minute before he offered a delayed, “Good for you.”

Ava stared straight ahead, searching for patches of late afternoon sunlight through the trees. “I guess,” she said. “I never smoked much to begin with. I only picked it up soon before I left home.”

He looked at her. “You still think of South Africa as home?”

Instinctively, she went to shake her head, and then realized that must be her answer. “No. No, I suppose I don’t.”

Crockett blinked down at her. He had this kind of half-smirk on his face, only one corner of his mouth curling upward as he surveyed her (both verbally and non-verbally). Then he stuck out the hand holding the cigarette and moved it up to her lips.

Ava accepted it and took a long drag, closing her eyes while she filled herself with meaningless smoke. The fumes teased her nose, and she resisted the whine that was scraping up her throat. She thought about how his lips had been in the same place hers were now, at the end of this cig, and she liked that thought.

Too soon, she was sitting back at her desk. Her phone lit up with a new text; it was from Sarah. Their frequent texting had waned somewhat over the past months, kind of a silent mutual decision that any kind of long distance communication (platonic or not) wasn’t really working. Still, every now and then Sarah sent her a link to something she thought Ava would care about or enjoy, and Ava usually did care about or enjoy the thing. She never really reciprocated, and she felt bad about it, but then she’d force herself to think of what started it: lying on her stomach on the bed in Sarah’s hotel room past one in the morning, sipping wine while Sarah ranted to her about fucked-up American politics. Setting the plastic cup of pinot on the carpet, kissing, hands exploring under clothes. 

Ava snapped out of it when a loud voice sounded from Connor’s office. She leaned back in her chair - she had mastered the art of tipping back just slightly enough to keep the chair’s wheels balanced on the floor - and checked on him. His door was closed, but whoever he was bitching at on the phone was sure getting an earful if Ava could hear him from out here.

While waiting for the conversation to end, Ava pretended to busy herself. She typed out replies to emails she had no intention of answering, shuffled papers around, used her thumb to wipe dust off the picture frame behind her keyboard.

By the time his yelling faded away, she had prepared an excuse to bother him. She hopped up and pulled his door open, popping her head in the narrow bit of space she made.

“You alright?” she asked. She made sure he saw the earnest downward slope of her brow, and her complete frown.

He looked a little red in the face, blush creeping down his neck. His phone was screen-down on the desk, sweat marks still receding on the pitch-black case. He swiped back the loose chunks of hair from his forehead and nodded briskly. “Yep, I’m good. How about you?”

Ava blinked. “You’re... asking me... how _ I’m _doing?”

Connor stared at her.

“... when you’re the one who was just screaming at someone on the phone?”

He didn’t acknowledge that, instead choosing to flip his phone over then back again. “Okay, what are you really here for?”

She knew he was going to ask that. Because of _ course _there had to be some underlying reason she showed up.

* * *

Connor’s eyebrows inched toward his hairline while Ava hesitated. To plug something stupid into the silence, he teased, “What, did they spell your last name incorrectly on some random paper again?”

He watched her closely for her reaction. Her composure shifted, her spine going rigid and the lean muscles in her arms stiffening. Something resembling annoyance flashed in her eyes; he knew it had to be annoyance because her eyes always got darker when he prodded the beast.

“No,” she said finally. “I just... I just wanted to tell you that the Keurig is making weird noises again.”

Connor propped his chin on his fist, keeping his eyes locked on her. “And you’re telling _ me _ why?”

It took another couple seconds, but Ava managed to return to her delightful self after stumbling. “I’m telling _ you, _the almighty V.P., because you seem to have quite the intimate relationship with that machine,” she said.

But he was poised to throw the hot potato right back. “And you don’t?”

She almost tripped again, he could tell, but she was able to hop over his set trap (albeit with a mediocre comeback). “This isn’t an interview, Connor.” Then she cast the “subject change” card, which was an admittedly clever move. “Speaking of interviews, have you met the new girl yet?”

“New girl? You mean you?”

“Very funny. Will mentioned someone’s been hired to replace that asshat Jimmy.” Ava wandered further into his office, fingers messing with a corner of her sky-blue blouse. Connor knew he needed to tell her to leave, that he had work to do (and so did she), but he was caught up in watching her eyes roam over the objects on his desk, and peer at the picture frames that faced him and no one else. His mind went to the single lonely picture frame on her desk. In it was a grainy photo of a younger Ava and another girl, neither probably older than sixteen at the time. He wondered where that smiling, carefree girl was now (and who the other person was).

He tapped at his keyboard absently, not really looking at her. “Oh, right. I did sit in on her interview at Latham’s request.” In the edge of his vision, he saw her hand graze over a glass paperweight, then a plastic succulent. “She looks very promising. I think she’ll be a, uh, fine fit. You guys will like her a lot.”

Ava picked up his stapler, which had a chrome finish and his initials engraved on it. It was the only gift his father had given him in the past five years. She didn’t address his response at first, instead scrutinizing the stupid stapler. “You really got your initials engraved onto a stapler?”

“Yes.” He was grinding his teeth and he hoped she wouldn’t notice.

Luckily, she set it down without another comment on it. “Well, that’s good to hear. I’m kind of tired of all the men around here.”

“It’s not all men, there’s...” Then he stopped, knowing what her response to _ that _would be.

“Oh, yes, there’s Robin,” Ava said sharply, as if she had just remembered herself. But he knew she was thinking it all along.

The temperature in the room slightly cooled now, she turned away from him and went for the door. She was really going to leave without saying anything?

Connor couldn’t let that happen. His butt came off his chair slightly, half-rising to accommodate her dismissive exit. “Um, nice chat, I guess,” he said.

Narrowed hazel eyes, dripping venomous honey, flitted back over her shoulder to meet his. “Talk to you later.” 

Then she was gone. Connor sat back down, blinking at the empty space she’d left behind. Suddenly the room was heated up again, and he only just noticed there was a thin line of sweat along the top of his forehead. Huh. Guess she got _ her _mission accomplished.

He had a dinner date with Robin planned for that evening. His fingers were doing their own thing as they pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and texted her that he felt ill and would have to cancel.

He knew she was just down the hall at the receptionist’s desk by the elevators. She was just a thirty second walk away, but somehow that was too far now. He gazed through the glass and watched Ava take her seat again, scooting in her chair until she was out of his sight. Her hair was falling in soft waves, and the highlights in her hair were standing out more today. She must’ve just gotten them redone. He had thought about mentioning it, but he knew the look he would receive if he tried that.

He had caught the whiff of cigarette smoke clinging to her when she came into the room, too. Cigarettes and green tea perfume, if combined, would be a scented candle he’d buy. It was weird because he’d always hated the smell of burnt tobacco. (But, of course, she “didn’t smoke.”)

The new hire, April Sexton, stopped by an hour later just to “get the lay of the land.” It wasn’t even her official first day yet, so Connor admired her ambition. He was also pleased to not have to show her around himself, since she wouldn’t be directly reporting to him.

Even so, Connor did his thing, acted professional, shook her hand, and said hello. He even took the courtesy to introduce her to the office Keurig machine.

“But just so you know,” he warned her as they stood there, “The vanilla brown sugar flavor is mine.”

April smiled and chuckled. “Okay, got it.”

He also laughed. “Yeah, I’m warning you now because it seems I’m the only one here who doesn’t find it disgustingly sweet.”

“It really is disgustingly sweet. Just one sip spikes your blood sugar into the thousands.” Ava popped up out of thin air, and Connor was sure he must’ve jumped a foot into the air. She stuck out her hand for April to take. “I’m Ava Bekker, by the way.”

April grinned at her, friendly if somewhat skeptical. “And you are the...?”

“Assistant V.P.”

“Assistant _ to _the V.P.,” Connor corrected.

“Same thing.”

Apparently she was there to make use of the Keurig. “It’s my third cup of the day,” Ava told April as she put in a K-cup and hit the brew button. “You’ll need a steady supply of caffeine while working here. Just a heads up.”

Connor gave her a look that was as gentle as a hug from a cactus. He steered April away, and ran almost head-on into Ethan. From the way those two blinked at each other, dumbfounded, Connor started to feel like an unneeded third arm... so he left the two newest couples of the twelfth floor to themselves (April and Ethan, Ava and coffee) and made a beeline for the privacy of his office again (hoping the other half of his crumbling relationship wouldn’t see his blush).


	8. day three hundred & thirteen

“It’s not you... it’s me.”

“Oh, that’s _ real _original.”

Connor knew it didn’t make sense; the dinner had been pleasant, but now that dessert was laid out before them, things weren’t feeling so sweet anymore. He stared down at the decadent slice of chocolate cake they were supposed to be sharing. They were supposed to be placing forkfuls into each other’s mouths, laughing, smiling, but... none of that was happening. 

He wasn’t sure why he was keeping himself from just being _ happy_, god damn it. He wanted nothing more than to find that rough patch in his brain and smooth it out so his affection wouldn’t keep getting snagged on it.

“I’m sorry, I’m just... I’m too distracted to, uh, really enjoy this. You deserve better,” he told the woman across the table.

Nodding like a bobblehead, she swept a waterfall of platinum extensions over her shoulder. Her faux snakeskin print dress was starting to droop like it was also tired of him. “You’re right,” she said. “I _ do _deserve better.”

It was their third date, but Connor still needed twenty seconds to recall her name. While he tried to scrounge it up, he felt exposed. It was like she was peering at an active X-ray screening of his brain and could see the gears desperately turning.

When he finally remembered, he spoke so abruptly that it was painfully obvious he forgot. “Kelsey! Listen, it’s... I really am sorry. This dinner is on me, and... well, the cake’s all yours too if you want it.”

“Guess I’ll be needing it while I fake-cry over you,” she sneered. 

Skin crawling with embarrassment, Connor waved over the waiter and practically threw his credit card in the man’s face.

“So who is it you’re hung up on?” Kelsey continued to taunt him. “Your ex?”

“Yep,” he said too quickly. “I guess that must be it. I miss Robin! I do... really... miss her. Yeah.” Outwardly, he looked anywhere but at her while he bounced his leg restlessly. Inwardly, he cringed so hard his face caved in.

Blessedly, the waiter returned before long with his card - he must have gotten the message. Connor scribbled more of a squiggly line than an actual signature on the receipt, tossed a ten and a five on the table for a tip, and breezed the hell out of there. Left behind, his date aimed one more vicious dagger at his back: “You’re a fucking asshole, Connor Rhodes! Just wait ‘til every woman in Chicago knows how you are!”

_ I’m sure they already know. _He grimaced and flung himself out the door and leaned against the building, gulping in breaths. It had gotten sweltering in there, so the chill out here was a relief. He let the frosty air fill his lungs as he calmed down. Well, one thing was for sure: he was never going to patronize that restaurant again.

That was the only thing he was really sure about, though.

He left his car at the office parking lot because, well, he’d had the feeling he would end up back there tonight. When his failed Tinder match insisted on getting dinner tonight, Connor had been disappointed to say the least. He couldn’t totally believe he would be missing a single second of the annual holiday party.

And so it turned out he wasn’t missing _ all _of it. And lucky him - he would only be showing up alone and dateless in a sweaty dress shirt. What a way to get in the holiday spirit.

He took an Uber back to the office. While he sat in the backseat of a bland Nissan (cloth fabric really just didn’t do it for lumbar support the way fine leather did), he recalled the explanation he’d given to Ava and April about the holiday party:

_ “It’s an experience. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever lived before. It will change your life. Trust me.” _

The only response he’d gotten to that was collective eyerolls. Of course he’d been exaggerating; Connor had yet to have an actual “life-changing” experience at the holiday party, and maybe he did overhype it a _ little _bit, but it was still a big deal. People from all different floors of the office building gathered in the big meeting room on the fourteenth floor (except the sixth floor, they were party poopers and no one liked them). And, though it technically wasn’t “permitted,” there was alcohol, and it was good alcohol. Dolen Rhodes Medical Manufacturers Inc. made up the largest number of floors in the building, so Connor knew the vast majority of people there. It was the kind of party where he could live it up, mingle with everyone, and have a good time in an ugly Christmas sweater.

He would just have to go minus the sweater this year. Oh well. Unless...

The first person he spotted when the elevator doors unfurled was, thankfully, Will. He was the only subordinate of Connor’s who he seemed to have formed a genuine friendship with, rather than something borne out of fear or obligation. Connor made a beeline for the redhead and they slapped each other’s backs in greeting. He took a moment to step back and admire Will’s ugly sweater: it was silver, blue, and gold, with glittery stitching and huge penguins ironed on haphazardly.

“Wait, don’t tell me you got the ugly sweater kit from Target again,” Connor teased. Will blinked at him, the guilt in his eyes crystal clear. “Come on, man! You do this every year!”

“I know, I know. But I think they change what comes in the kit year to year. I swear, these felt penguin thingies were not included last time.” Will took a sip from his red solo cup. “Now let’s get you equipped with some booze, man. C’mere.” Then he stopped short, just now noticing Connor’s lame attire in the low light. “Connor! Where’s your sweater? You always have the best one here. And this year you just pull a 180 on us and wear normal work clothes...”

“Well, about that... is there any chance you have an ugly sweater to spare? Like, maybe extra crap from that stupid Target kit?” Connor was growing more panicked every second there was a chance he could be spotted sweater-less.

Will studied him, mouth set in a stubborn frown. “Take back the comment about it being ‘stupid’ and we _ might _have a deal.”

“How about I just fire you instead?”

“You’ll convince Latham to do that?”

Connor raked his hand through his hair. This was like a conversation (or rather, debate) with Ava. “Okay. It’s not stupid, it’s cool. Target is a great store. You happy?”

(And he definitely wouldn’t have given in that easy with her... certainly not.)

Satisfied, Will led him down the couple flights of stairs to the dark and quiet twelfth floor. In his cubicle was the remains of the ugly sweater kit. Of course, only one sweater came in the original package, so Connor was going to have to make do with stick-on pom-poms, feathers, and glue. Then, for good measure, he also snatched a string of lights from the front desk (sorry not sorry, Robin). After about five minutes of toil and struggle, he and Will managed to toss the lights over his shoulders then twist them around his abdomen and tape them to his shirt. (Oh, his poor $80 custom-fit white dress shirt. Rest in peace.) He flicked the lights on and shoved the battery pack in his pocket. He stood spread-eagle before his friend. “So how do I look?”

“You want honesty or flattery?”

Connor just groaned at him. They headed back upstairs to the party, and Connor barely had time to take a Jell-O shot before he noticed Ava chatting with Natalie, someone he recognized from a department on the floor below them. Ava had on a fuzzy green sweater with white lace trim and a large Rudolph face in the center, complete with a bright red nose. She wore snowflake-shaped earrings and a dusting of glittery emerald eyeshadow to match. She looked... good.

Next to him, Will went frozen like an ice sculpture when he laid his eyes on Natalie. “Oh, yeah, I forgot you had the hots for her,” Connor said. Will didn’t answer, and kept staying still like his life depended on it. “Or should I say the colds? Thaw out a little buddy, come on.” He waved his hand in front of Will’s face.

Just then, Ava and Natalie noticed them and started to walk over. Connor caught Ava’s eye, and suddenly he felt the impulse to take another Jell-O shot. They were laid out on the table in rows of red and green; apparently the green ones were peppermint flavor, and he was left trying not to gag. Well, he tried... and failed.

“Are you choking?” Ava asked. Somewhere between the syllables was concern, he thought, but on the surface was amusement and an arched eyebrow.

Connor finished coughing and downed a gulp of something much better tasting. “Nope. I’m good,” he panted. “Just... not sure who thought to make mint-flavored Jell-O. Not the best idea.”

Ava shrugged. “Jell-O’s nasty to begin with. Not sure why Americans have popularized it so much.”

Natalie shuddered. “I’m with you. The texture is just so weird.”

In the corner of his vision, Connor noticed Will was still in an anxious trance. He threw his arm over the other man’s shoulders and shook him a little in the hopes of bringing him back down to Earth. “Natalie, it’s great to see you again! How’ve you been?” She opened her mouth to answer and he kept rolling onward. “That’s good! Cool! Well, listen, Will here has really been dying to talk to you. You guys should talk.” He gave his friend another firm pat then marched away, smirking.

He was so proud of himself, in fact, he failed to realize right away that he’d left Ava back there with them. She was quick to catch up, though.

“Hey, don’t leave me to be part of that flailing tricycle!” she said, popping up at his side again. “I’m not about to be a third wheel.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll be a steady bicycle real soon,” Connor replied.

She sighed. “Wait, are you actually proud of your cryptic little act back there? You think you’re a professional wingman now?”

He turned to face her, stepping in her path. “I think I’ll add it to my resume.”

“Oh, that is _ just _what your resume needs.”

He shrugged innocuously. “I mean, if you’re saying I’m a ‘professional’...”

A (reluctantly) amused snort escaped her. He didn’t _ want _to notice the way her nose scrunched up cutely, but he noticed it nonetheless. “You’re so full of yourself, you know that?”

Connor smiled. “If I didn’t know it before, you’ve definitely made it clear, Ava.”

* * *

She swirled the drink in her hand. Whatever potion she was sipping had far-reaching effects through her body, and she was tingly from her fingers to her toes to even the ends of her hair.

Connor looked positively ridiculous. What had probably been a nice, expensive button-down was now marked up with pom-poms and fake craft feathers. He had a string of multicolor, large bulb lights strung behind his neck like a feather boa. Despite all that, the trait that stood out most to her was the new beard. She’d noticed him growing out his facial hair over the last few weeks, though she acted like she didn’t notice it.

Ava gestured at his crazy getup with her cup. “So, how much was that shirt you’ve ruined, Santa?”

He blinked at her, mouth open, for a few seconds. She figured it took a bit for any non-favorable comments to sink through his thick skull. Then, finally, he said, “Okay, first: none of your business. And second... Santa? What?”

“The beard,” she said.

“The... oh.” He reached up a hand to pat the sides of his face, as if he had only just realized it was there. “Okay, but it’s not _ white_. At least not yet. Though you being around will probably speed up that process.”

She laughed. “Take all the offense you want, Connor, but I mostly meant it as a compliment--”

“-- a compliment in disguise.”

“Shush. I mean it, really. It... it fills out your face nicely.” Then she hid her face behind her cup, taking another long swig.

It felt like they were in their own space together in this busy room. They might as well have built up their own cubicle walls and huddled in together to block out everything else. Ava and Connor stayed in their corner, sipping and talking and laughing, and it wasn’t a terrible experience. Maybe they were on the cusp of something here...

Until she was reminded of the imaginary wall still in place between them. Ava felt a hand land on her shoulder, and she watched Connor’s face harden, the cheery blush in his cheeks migrating to a crimson in the tips of his ears.

“Hey there,” Crockett’s husky voice kissed her earlobe, and she suppressed a shiver. He leaned down so they were cheek to cheek; the eye contact between him and Connor was electrifyingly awkward. “I’ve been looking for you,” he added after a misplaced moment where the two men stared at each other.

“Oh, you have?” she hummed. His hands were on her waist, fingers slipping under the sweater and looping in the waistband of her jeans.

Crockett didn’t make any further moves, out of courtesy, she assumed. Ava couldn’t resist a lingering glance at Connor. His eyes were cast downward, and she followed his gaze to where Crockett’s hands were at her hips, hidden by the bulky sweater.

He knew now. 

And why did that perturb her?

She rolled her arms back, making sure to shove her elbows into Crockett’s chest so he would back off a little. Message received, he removed his hands and placed them in his pockets instead. “Ava, there are a few friends from the tenth floor I wanted you to meet,” he said. She knew instinctively that he and Connor were again looking coolly at each other. They had never liked each other much to begin with. “If you don’t mind me stealing her for a moment, Connor?”

Connor shook his head jerkily. “Nope. I don’t mind. Not at all.”

Ava crossed her arms. “And just for the record, I’m not an object to be ‘stolen’ from anyone.”

Crockett grinned at her. “Of course you’re not. My bad.”

“Yeah, his bad,” Connor muttered.

She couldn’t take it anymore. How old were they, twelve? She snatched Crockett’s wrist and let him lead her away. Her limbs felt weighed down by lead; it was almost impossible to wade her way out of that thick pool of tension. Their carefree little corner had been intruded, and now barriers were reinforced.

(A little while later, Ava was in the bathroom. The bathrooms up here weren’t as pristine as the ones on the twelfth floor, likely due to more frequent use. Paint was peeling and tiles were chipped.

She’d forgotten to take her medication. A lovely side effect of the alcohol; it always made her brain all muddled. Abstract thoughts in her head appeared to her like words on an old chalkboard, chalk all smeared and illegible. And now she forgot, she _ forgot, _fuck. It was all her fault.

The skimpy wristlet she’d showed up with barely fit a tube of lip gloss, let alone an entire pill bottle. In a fit, and worried about being late, she’d tossed in the pills loosely, and now she was shaking them out of the stupid upside-down sequined wristlet. A stray dime landed on the marble counter along with a sequin that had been shaken loose. She tilted her head back, dropped them on her tongue, and swallowed, stumbling over her breath at the bitter tang in the back of her throat.)

She was feeling okay again by the time Crockett found her under the mistletoe. It was a cheap plastic bunch of leaves tied together with a little red bow and hung over the doorway. She hadn’t even noticed it before now.

“Well, would you look at that!” Ava exclaimed. She was smiling so hard her face hurt.

“Hmm... it seems we have no choice. We’ve been trapped,” Crockett said, leaning in.

“What a shame,” she deadpanned right before his lips met hers. They kissed for a little while with only some tongue, and she counted the heartbeats thudding at the bottom of her throat, where something still tasted bitter.

Then she became aware of the whistles and playful jeers of the other partygoers, and she remembered they were indeed in public, in an office building, with drab gray carpet under their feet and plain white walls all around. They broke apart, and she rested a hand on his chest. _ Later, _her eyes said, and his narrowed eyes quite agreed to the plan. Most of their sex tended to be impromptu, initiated by a random text at an odd hour or an exchange of looks while leaving the office at the end of the day. It was so casual it made her soul feel free and floaty inside her, like it was trying to climb up out of her and run away. She had to assume that was a good thing, because it was awful when her soul would weigh her down with annoying feelings. It was lovely to be free of strings.

After another hour, the party was winding down, and she was pretty over it. She had grazed on maybe two handfuls of chips during the entire time there, and her body probably consisted of more alcohol than water at this point, so driving was not an option. She was in the hall sliding on her coat when she spotted Connor apparently also making his exit.

“Oh! Hey,” she said. She decided to keep her words light, airing on the friendly side just in case.

“Hey.” He picked someone else’s jacket off the coat rack to grab his, then replaced the stranger’s. “You’re heading out too, huh?”

Ava nodded and yawned. She could only hope she wouldn’t doze off on the taxi ride over to Crockett’s. Where was he, anyway? She had thought he was right behind her...

She wasn’t expecting what came out of Connor’s mouth next. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday a week ago. December 4th, right?”

“Actually, it was a little over a week ago now...”

A tiny smile split his lips. “Do you always have to correct me?”

“Well if it makes you grin like a halfwit, then maybe I’ll do it more often.” Then Ava gulped, blinking rapidly. “Since... y- you should smile more. I’m tired of you being so grouchy all the time.”

He leaned on the wall and gazed at her. “Yeah?”

“Yes, you look like a bulldog when you’re pissed, with your face all scrunched up like that.”

Connor sighed and stood up again. “_Anyway... _I wish you’d told me. I always bring in a bunch of macarons from Maggie’s when it’s someone’s birthday. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Ava finished buttoning up her coat and began to wrap her scarf around her neck. “I have. But I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Who told you, anyway?”

“Natalie.”

“Ah. Figures. Thought it would be safe since she’s not on our floor. Guess I was wrong.”

He absently dragged his jacket’s zipper up and down. “Why are you so quiet about it? There’s no way you’re 30.”

She groaned. “I’m 29. So... too close for comfort.”

“How do you think I feel? I’m already a year into my thirties. Fair warning: it’s terrible. All my joints ache. And I’m already getting recruitment letters from AARP in the mail.”

Ava couldn’t help but crack up. She bent forward a little; but when the laughs faded and she tried to straighten again, she only swayed and lurched precariously forward. His arms darted out and he held her steady. “Uh-oh. Chest pains?” he joked.

“You wish,” she said. Slowly, she regained her footing and rose to her full height. “I’m just a bit tipsy. I have to... I have to go downstairs and get a cab.”

“Nah, I’ll call you an Uber instead. Chicago cabs suck, trust me.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut into it. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind paying. It’s not like you’re going on a cross-country road trip, so it won’t be insanely expensive.”

He escorted her down the elevator and outside into the biting December night. She didn’t mind the company, until he blurted, “So that was some kiss, huh?”

They were standing at the curb, cars whizzing by then stopping at the nearby red light. “Hm,” she huffed, “how long were you holding that back?”

“Ava, I just--”

“It’s none of your business who I am with. Did I ever give you a hard time for being with Robin and whoever else? No!” She swatted some hair out of her face, only for winter’s ruthless breeze to blow it right back in her eyes. “I don’t understand you, Connor. You’ve shown that you’re not as much of an asshole as you present yourself, but then you just... revert back to the same shit.”

He was silent for a moment, and she wished the Uber would just show up already.

“I just... I just think you deserve better than him. You’ve heard how he treats people. He... he goes through one person after another like they’re transparent.”

Ava spun on him, stamping her frozen boots on the sidewalk. “Oh, so you think I deserve someone rich and charming like you, Connor? Someone who tells me how to live my life? Thanks, but no thanks.” His eyes were very blue and very stormy and hers were threatening tears.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said softly. In the fiery heat between them, his phone dinged, and his eyes flicked to the screen blankly right as a car pulled up a few yards away. “Your ride is here.”

“Have a good night, Connor,” she told him, the sentence flying bitterly off her tongue. Once she was in the car, she turned her head away from the window as it drove past the man standing alone on the curb.


	9. day six hundred & eleven

Dr. Cornelius Rhodes leaned back in his chair and swirled his whiskey around in its glass. “So how old are you today, anyway? 22?” He cracked up while Connor tried to keep up the pleasant mask he had taped over his actual face. If it cracked even a little, it would only brew more trouble.

“That’s a good one. No, I’m actually 32.” Connor stared at the amber liquid as his father swished it about. “What are you doing that for?” he snapped, suddenly fed up with the motion. It gave off a sense of impatience, like Cornelius couldn’t wait to get out of this pretentious restaurant he had strangely requested to meet his son at. It felt like he was all too ready to leave. That sensation slithered under Connor’s skin and wrapped tightly around his bones, cold and sharp.

The whiskey stopped its pattern of man-made waves, and gradually became a still pool in the glass. Cornelius looked hard at his son. “Why are you so agitated? It’s just something I do to aerate the drink.”

“Aerate? Isn’t that just for wine?”

“Well...” The older man shifted and looked upon the whiskey much more fondly than he ever had looked at Connor. “I like to think it adds something to it, makes it lighter.”

Connor snorted. “You can’t make strong alcohol like that ‘light.’”

“You can think what you want about it, and let me think the way I want to,” Cornelius rumbled. Connor hated how stupidly calm the other man was acting; maybe he had some kind of mask plastered on as well.

Then, just like that, a suffocating blanket of silence settled over them again. Cornelius was gazing at Connor in a way that was more like examining a science experiment gone wrong. It made Connor feel exposed. When his dad looked at him, he felt like another of his patients, unconscious on the cool metal table in the operating room. He just wished his father would grab a scalpel and open him up and tell him what was wrong with him inside, because the suspense really was killing him.

“So, what did you get me?” Connor finally said after several minutes of chewing steak and lapping up alcohol. He’d been brought up to be a delicate, dignified man, and so there he was, delicate the way he barely let his tongue taste the bourbon, and dignified in his all-black suit.

“Get you?” Cornelius responded, obviously puzzled. Connor was quite sure he could spell out the words “I love you” in front of his dad, and Cornelius would ask what language they were from.

“For my birthday,” Connor said. He forked another bite of steak in his mouth. This piece was fattier, but it was the melt-in-his-mouth type of fat. He vaguely remembered this costing something over $100 on the menu.

Cornelius chuckled again. “Well... this dinner, I suppose.” He waved his hand over the white silky tablecloth and their half-finished meals. “How’s that?”

Connor just nodded and filled his mouth with more fat to chew, but it kept melting away. He peered down into his whiskey, and it was shining the same kind of light brown caramel he found in Ava’s eyes.

When he came home afterward, he shed his clothes immediately and got in the shower. He tried to imagine some sort of placebo effect taking place with the steam. Wasn’t shower steam supposed to invigorate, or... something like that? Refresh, replenish, renew. All he felt was hot water stinging his back and all he saw was the day’s dirt and sweat hissing down the drain by his feet.

Once he was dried off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and wandered out of the bathroom, letting the cool air in the rest of the house wash over his bare skin. Right as he came into the kitchen, his phone dinged from where he’d left it on the counter. He went over to it.

_ Ava: What’s your house number again? _

He blinked at the text. Then his fingers automatically moved to type out the answer, until he froze up. Wait. This question could imply many different things, and a selection of those possibilities made his stomach twist, his heart jump into his throat, and his brain disappear.

_ Connor: Why do you ask? _

The reply arrived right away.

_ Ava: Nevermind, since you’re a sloth I asked Will and he told me it. You can thank him later! _

In the next instant, his doorbell rang.

He almost went for the door right then, until he realized he was still clad in just a towel. He ran to his closet and tugged on a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt all while trying not to think about what he would’ve done if Ava had seen him like... _ that. _

Then Connor swung open the door and there she was, changed out of her work clothes into leggings and a red flannel. Her hair was longer now, silken waves that fell well past her shoulders. Her eyes seemed to capture his hazy porch light inside them, and glowed like honey-brown twin suns. “Happy birthday, Mr. V.P.”

In her hands was a box, which took a few seconds for him to notice after discreetly admiring her. “Well, what a surprise,” he said. “I never would’ve seen this coming.”

“I haven’t even stepped through the door yet and I’m greeted with sarcasm? Harsh, but I can appreciate it.” Ava invited herself in, a shudder visibly rippling down her spine as a touch of the October chill followed her in. “Anyway, it was supposed to be an actual surprise, but all these damn townhouses look exactly alike, so I wanted to make sure I found the right idiot on the block.”

She set the familiar-looking box on the counter and he watched her rapidly rub her upper arms to warm them up. “Where the hell is your jacket?” he asked. “Come on, it’s got to be in the fifties or below out there.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Shush, you’re not my mother. It isn’t winter yet, so I’m going without the annoying bulky coat for as long as possible.” She stuck out an accusing arm toward him. “Besides, look at you in your short sleeves.”

“I just got out of the shower, so I’m still warm,” he defended, taking a seat at the island and dragging the box up in front of him. “At least I was, until you brought all of autumn into my house.”

“Oh, no, that was just my stone-cold personality,” she quipped. She slid onto the stool across from him and drummed the counter. “I’m sure you already know what’s in there, so just go for it.”

Connor wanted to grin really wide - in fact, he wanted to smile hard enough to make his cheeks sore - but he suppressed it. He popped open the lid and, sure enough, there was an arrangement of macarons from Maggie’s, laid out in color order like a bouquet of flowers.

“Wow,” he breathed, running his fingers over the cookies. She snorted at his exaggerated mesmerization.

“I even got the disgusting chocolate and peanut butter ones just for you. But all the other flavors are up for _ my _grabs.” She coughed and started to slide off her seat. “You have water?”

“Nope, my tap only dispenses Dr. Pepper, sorry.” He hopped up and held up his hand as a signal for her to stop. “Please, allow me.”

While he got a glass and filled it from the fridge dispenser, she started to scan over the cookies. “I really have taught you well in the art of sarcasm. I’m proud,” she said. “And to think you used to be so... _ uptight. _Is that stick still shoved up your ass even a little, or did it fall out?”

Connor pushed the glass over to her and resumed his seat. “You can stop talking anytime now.” He leaned over and took a coconut macaron while she nibbled on a lemon one.

“Actually, you know what would go great with these? A steaming cup of green tea.”

“Green tea?” he asked around a mouthful. A few crumbs tumbled out of his mouth and she grimaced.

“Chew and swallow, Connor. Chew and swallow.”

He complied, but then his mouth didn’t obey his brain, because the next thing he said was “Green tea like your perfume?”

A hush descended upon them. It was the chaotic type of silence where Connor’s conscience just kept screaming inside his head. He couldn’t look at her now, and he kind of wanted to die.

Finally, Ava stumbled on an answer. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “It’s a good scent. What, you don’t like it?”

Connor opened his mouth, then closed it. He had been a salesman for several years now; he toured the Americas and Europe promoting business deals for his father’s company. He knew how to stretch the truth, how to fib a little, how to smooth things out and make them look all right. But he couldn’t do that now. He couldn’t lie to her, or even try to make a joke out of it. The firm grasp he had on his sarcasm tonight had vanished into the hot, still air of his kitchen.

“N- no, it’s... nice.” Just like the steak earlier, he shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth, his stupid mouth, to prevent it from saying any more stupid words (for now).

* * *

Ava’s face felt like she had rested it on a hot stove burner. Connor sat across from her, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's as he gradually broke down the large bite of macaron.

“Don’t choke on that,” she teased, glancing at him before quickly shifting her gaze down to her hands. She had her fingers intertwined neatly on the white granite countertop. She didn’t even realize her hands were shaking until she pulled them apart and shoved them down onto her lap, hidden from his view.

They shared companionable silence for a while, picking off one macaron after another until they were too full to eat any more. She was deep into the dangerous jungle of her thoughts, mainly on a mission to figure out what it meant for him to like her perfume. She remembered their earlier days over a year ago, when his brow would get heavy and something would flash in his oceanic eyes whenever she entered the room. She had always noticed... something. But now Ava hated the word “something,” because that was a filler for, well, something _ else _that surely meant a lot more than the emptiness of “something.”

She also took the time to take in her surroundings more. She had only ever been to his house once before this, and it was only to drop off important paperwork that couldn’t wait until the next work day. It was the same day she’d gotten his number, and also the same day she’d ended things with Crockett. She was good at ending things with people.

Connor, meanwhile, seemed better at beginning things. It seemed every week Ava turned around and he was with a new girl. She was more clued in to it now that they were tentative friends. She had listened to a few of his disaster stories about the way those relationships came to a close. They fizzled out too quickly after being ignited, like a sparkler: temporary, fleeting joy, then a useless burned-out nothing.

Ava tried to give him advice, but she could tell he didn’t really listen, at least not in the way she wanted. He was attentive, but he didn’t absorb it. She wasn’t even sure if her help was decent. She thought she had learned a lot throughout her experience dating people in South Africa and here. But maybe the problem was that her advice didn’t include personal anecdotes, those little pieces of herself she swept up and held close to only herself.

His house was nice and simple. It was too white, she thought. She liked when walls had more color to them, pale greens and navy blues and mellow yellows. His house was white, with the white walls and white kitchen. The appliances were stainless steel, which was cold, but the ash wood flooring set the cold off-balance and drew in some resemblance of warmth. It was an open floor plan, and behind her, shrouded in darkness, sat the living room in slumber. She twisted around a little to see it; there was a gray couch that looked barely touched, a pompously minimalist painting hanging above it. There was a single picture frame on the foot of wall space between the entryway and the kitchen, and in it was Connor and who she had eventually learned was his sister Claire. They were smiling and contained in a deep blue frame, the one thing with color here.

Ava finished off a strawberry macaron, her last for the night because otherwise she would explode. She sat back on the stool and fixed her gaze on him. “So, tell me. How come you bring in macarons on everyone’s birthdays, but no one brings them in for your birthday?”

Connor dipped his chocolate cookie into the glass of milk he’d poured himself. “Because you brought them for me now.”

“But not last year,” she pointed out. She traced an abstract pattern in the granite’s cracks, collecting crumbs with her finger along the way. She imagined she was the painter of that piece over his sofa and concentrated on it even less.

His hair was rumpled, having dried in a strange position after his shower. He smiled gently at her, and his beard hugged his face closely. She liked that because it kind of looked like he needed a hug. “Only because you didn’t know when my birthday was yet.”

“Fair point.” 

He chewed and swallowed. “Or it’s just because everyone pretends to like me.” He shrugged. “I don’t blame them.”

Ava watched him reach lamely for a macaron and pick one without even looking what flavor it was. “I think it’s more like everyone pretends to like your father,” she said.

Connor fell silent again. The pendant light above them faltered for a half-second, the bulb losing its breath. 

“Listen,” she said, deciding to push forward. “I don’t know all the specifics of your relationship with him, but--”

“Last I checked, I didn’t think you were Dear Abby. Did I ask for your advice?” He finished off that cookie and she imagined it tasted quite tasteless to him. He went to grab another, but she closed the box.

“I think that’s enough macarons for tonight.”

He scowled at her. “Ava, it’s my birthday.”

“Actually, no, it’s not anymore.” She pulled out her phone and showed the screen to him. “It’s almost thirty minutes past midnight.” She was actually somewhat surprised to see the time herself; when did it get so late? The rest of October 9th had slipped away so quietly.

Connor didn’t answer her. He gulped the rest of his milk and let the glass fall back on the counter heavily, loudly. “It’s just,” he said, then stopped. His forehead was doing that thing again where it scrunched up, like it couldn’t handle the size of his brain when it actually thought things through for once. “It’s just that he’s a... a difficult person. I take after him that way.”

If it were a lighter situation, Ava would’ve thought, _ Wow, he took the words right out of my mouth. _But the expression on his face was the epitome of seriousness, and she could only frown and say, “You did something that disappointed him. Right?”

When he didn’t satisfy her with a response, she continued. Time to make it personal. “I know what it means when you say they’re difficult, and you’re difficult too.” She set her arms on the counter and leaned closer to him. “My mother, she... always said that I would’ve made a great doctor. She would...” She lifted up her hands, staring at them and turning them back and forth. “She would always pick up my hands and say, ‘Those are a surgeon’s fingers, Ava Lesedi. Quick, careful and nimble.’” Ava rested her hands back on the counter. Her fingertips were close to Connor’s, but his were folded into fists. “But I think she just wanted me to be like my grandfather and my aunt. They were doctors and they did great things and saved lives. I don’t know if I would’ve had it in me to do that. And that disappointed her deeply. I could tell.”

Connor sat across from her and listened. He really was a good listener when he put his mind to it. When it was clear she had nothing more to say, he finally spoke. “I guess we’ve found the one thing we have in common.”

They didn’t talk again for the rest of the night until she left, and even then it was only one “bye” to another. It was past one in the morning, and they both had work tomorrow (technically, later today). But as Ava drove home she had that image of Connor in her mind, in a white t-shirt, a tattoo just peeking out from under one of the sleeves, his arms strong and steady as he laid them on the counter - and she thought about maybe calling in sick tomorrow (today).


	10. day six hundred & seventy-seven

Robin’s going-away celebration took place a few weeks before the big holiday party. She was leaving to pursue a nursing career, and Ava was actually kind of sad to see her go. She always wore a sweet smile sitting behind the front desk, and never failed to smile at Ava when she got off the elevator in the morning. That smile never wavered even after her relationship with Connor fizzled out.

Maybe she still smiled at Ava because Ava’s budding friendship with him wasn’t obvious in the office, where they still bickered on and off. But then at her send-off, Robin cornered Ava for a moment, an uncharacteristic serious frown drawn on her face.

“Listen, Ava,” she had said, placing a hand on the taller woman’s shoulder. “I’ve noticed how close you and Connor have gotten. All I ask is that you take care of him. He needs the support.”

Ava had been caught so off guard that all she could say was “Oh... you’ve noticed?”

Robin laughed then, that syrupy, over-the-top sweet giggle of hers. “Oh, only me and everyone else on the twelfth floor.”

Now, a couple weeks later, Ava was standing in front of her floor-length mirror and smoothing out her ugly sweater. It was red with thick stitches and shiny white pom-poms sticking off it. Several were arranged in the center of the shirt to form a snowman, while the rest were scattered about to resemble snowfall. She’d found it for ten bucks at a local department store, and it was a little scratchy, but it would have to do.

It was her second holiday party with the company, and she was really starting to feel like part of the tradition. She had fresh-baked chocolate cookies cooling on the kitchen counter. They were topped with crushed candy cane bits, and she had tweaked the recipe three times before being satisfied. They weren’t Maggie’s macarons, but they were still delicious.

Besides, she wanted tonight to be the beginning of a fresh start for her. It was almost 2019. She was 30 now, 30 entire years old, and she was ready to wipe her slate clean. Her twenties had been... less than perfect, and that was an understatement. She was so very ready to put the past behind her, and a phone call from her mother on her birthday had both helped and hindered that sentiment.

_ “Ava dear, you can’t let other people get the best of you. Don’t fall in love so much. It’s easy to fall in your grave, but not so easy to climb back out.” _

Her mom was full of can’ts and don’ts. Ava wished she would offer some positive-sounding guidance for once. Even now, over two years after escaping what she intended to leave behind, sour words were still thrown at her from across the ocean. She knew her mother probably sat on a chair at the shoreline daily, waiting for Ava to come crawling back.

The mirror reflected back an approving image, though Ava was almost positive these were the exact same jeans she wore to the party last year - the same jeans Crockett Marcel had slipped his slick fingers into, the same jeans he had unbuttoned later that night (after she left Connor at the curb). She pushed the thought away and went to pack up the cookies. (And she packed her usual dose of meds into herself before she left.)

The fourteenth floor was hopping by the time she stepped off the elevator. She dropped off the cookies at the snack table before anything else, then went to pour herself a drink.

Ava’s stomach jumped when she felt an enthusiastic tapping on her shoulder. She turned away from the self-serve bar and saw Natalie. Ever since they met at last year’s party, they’d really hit it off and tried to meet for drinks once a week.

“Hey! I have some news!” Natalie could barely contain whatever the news was. Her eyes were gleaming, and she seemed outlined with some kind of fuzzy, buzzing electricity.

Ava sipped her tequila-spiked Coke and lifted her eyebrows. “Well, go on!” she urged. “Tell me.”

Natalie raised up her left hand, and it took half a second for Ava to blink and spot the sizeable diamond on her ring finger. “Phillip proposed!” Natalie squealed.

Again Ava’s stomach jumped, but this time she couldn’t say why. She took her friend’s hand and examined the stone in awe. “My god, Nat. Congratulations!” Ava was never a huge jewelry person herself - she preferred fashionable clothes and makeup over accessories - but she knew an expensive ring when she saw one. “That is a gorgeous ring.”

“Thank you. I just wish Phillip could’ve come tonight, you could’ve finally met him. But he had to work late.” Natalie shrugged and admired her hand some more.

Phillip seemed like quite the elusive guy; they had been dating for just under a year and Ava still had yet to meet him. Whenever the opportunity arose, he always managed to be somewhere else in the nick of time. Ava was familiar with that type of man - she had some ex-boyfriends (and one ex-girlfriend) who dodged meeting her friends, particularly her old best friend Mina. But then again, Mina tended to be a... strong force. Inevitably, people would think Ava was overly assertive... until they met Mina. Ava sighed; she needed to give her a call, see how she was doing. She missed her. (Mina was about the only thing she missed from the first era of her life.)

“So... have you set a date yet?” Ava stole a few long gulps of her drink. The sooner she stopped feeling sad, the better.

“We’re not sure yet, but we’re thinking sometime next April,” Natalie said. She chattered on a bit more about wedding crap, and Ava kept up an act of nodding and smiling as needed. She was just preparing to excuse herself a couple minutes later when she perceived Connor standing at the wall opposite her.

It was funny; at this time last year, she was in a relationship with someone who worked here, so it hadn’t even occurred to her that this was the kind of event where she could bring a date along. And now, seeing Connor in an actual ugly sweater this year, she wanted nothing more than to have someone on her arm. (That was one accessory she cared about more than she liked to admit.)

She waited for Natalie to pause to catch her breath, and Ava told her that she would catch her later. Then she walked right into the trap set for her. The bait tasted good, after all. Or so she liked to imagine.

Connor had just turned away from a conversation when she came up. His sweater was white with a Christmas tree on it, and when he saw her his face noticeably lit up... just like his sweater. He hit a button on it, and the ornaments on the tree started blinking. It was goddamn adorable, but all she gave him was a smirk.

“Well, someone’s unusually happy to see me,” she said.

“Unusually happy? Please.” Connor blew a raspberry. It was hard to detect if there was an underlying hint of facetiousness there. Or maybe the sarcasm itself was sarcastic. (That would be an ultimate win at sarcasm that even she had yet to achieve.)

Ava hid her face in her cup again, then brought her eyes to his. It had taken a while, but now she saw the way his baby blues glazed over when he looked at her. She wondered if she unconsciously did the same thing. “So, um,” she said. “Natalie’s engaged. She just told me.”

His jaw dropped. “Really? Wow.” Ava noted the layer of disappointment on his face in honor of Will. “I, uh...” Connor gritted his teeth and scratched behind his head. “I’m... not sure if that’s a piece of news I’ll share with Will.”

She nodded. “I don’t blame you.”

It wasn’t long before they were interrupted by Ethan and April, and during the rest of the party they mingled with other people. But every time Ava was chatting with someone, their face would become blurry in the foreground and she would focus on Connor, who somehow found a way to be in her line of sight at all times. Half of the time he would catch her staring, and crack a discreet half-smile, pearly teeth flashing.

At the end of the night, she made sure to find him again. He was just about to duck out of a conversation with some people she didn’t recognize. When he turned, there she was to catch him. Ava wrapped her fingers around his arm and guided him away. She wanted him to herself. 

They got their coats and he made a move for the elevator, but she stopped him. “No, let’s take the stairs.”

* * *

She wanted to be with him for as long as possible. Why else would she want to take the stairs instead? Joy bloomed in his chest, his heart suddenly thawed out and unfurling like a tulip in spring.

They made their way down the first few flights in silence, phones out and both summoning their own respective Uber rides. But around the eighth floor, she came to a halt at the top of the next set of steps. It was cold and gray, they were surrounded by cement floor and walls, and a light on the ceiling far above was flickering incessantly. It didn’t seem like the ideal setting for what was brewing between them.

“Connor,” she said. “Are you-- are you with anyone right now?” Her tone was vague and her eyes were a calculator decoding his every move. 

_ I’m with you. Here. Alone.  _ But he only thought that. He shifted his weight. He felt like he was under a microscope. “No. I haven’t been in a relationship for months, Ava. I’ve been...” His voice splintered then, and he winced. “I’ve been waiting.”

“For?”

She was right there in front of him, beautiful with that natural inquisitive look on her face, the slightest of wrinkles between her eyebrows as she tried to understand him. He had never been more drawn to anyone in his life.

_ “For?”  _ she repeated.

Connor was leaning in, and she stayed rooted to the spot. With a feather-light touch, he cupped her face with one hand and connected their mouths. He wanted that tinted lipstick smeared all over his face, he wanted her fingers like claws in his hair, but she just kissed him back gently.

Ava pulled back, turning her soft cheek to his starved lips. “For me. Right,” she murmured. The breath she let out was slow and measured.

His fingers dropped from her face to the ends of her hair. He played with a golden curl and willed her to look at him. “What do you want, Ava?” he asked. Her name felt sweeter on his tongue now that he had tasted her.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Right now, I don’t know.” Those pretty eyes, green-tinged brown, floated absently back to him. He knew what she said; they both knew very well what she said, but both still eagerly leaned back into another quiet kiss. Her lips worked with his deliberately, fitting together in all kinds of perfect combinations, but he could tell she was just trying to figure something out. This time it was him who severed it.

“Then... then you just let me know when you know,” he told her. She looked down, eyelids heavy.

“Okay.”

They resumed walking downstairs, a new literal and emotional distance between them. Now the cold, dull setting felt fitting. Connor wanted to go home and go to bed and stay there for the entire weekend.

There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he also didn’t want to push her. There was still so much about her he didn’t know, and five minutes ago he’d believed he was finally drawing those mysteries to the surface. And now... now he just wanted to figure her out the way she had so easily figured him out. What was it that made him different from the others? Different from that slimeball Crockett, different from the better alternative she had found in New York all those months ago? Was the timing wrong? Did his breath stink? Where was his misstep? Was it even something he did at all, or something in her own mind?

Connor’s eyes fluttered back to her as they reached the final landing. It was so irritating that despite being so reluctant to see her just now, he couldn’t help using his last few minutes to soak her in before they parted ways.

She still had her head held high, and her gaze was fixed straight ahead. She hadn’t faltered for a second. And that was just the thing, he realized - he was an unnecessary featured artist on the radio edit of her already famous song. If he understood the way her mind worked, then... she was telling herself she didn’t need him to be happy. 

And in that moment, Connor thought that was right.

There weren’t any cars waiting for them yet at the frosty curb, so they stood there and watched headlights pass by in hazy yellow or neon white blurs. Ava sat down on the curb and folded in on herself to stay warm. She patted the spot next to her, and he sat too. Without warning, she leaned on his arm probably to exchange body heat. Her head was light on his arm but heavy with meaning, and his heart dipped. God, how much was she  _ trying _ to tempt him?

“I do care about you a lot, you know,” she said. Her breath came out as clouds in the cold air, clouds full of words and words and nothings.

“I know,” he replied.

“Even if I don’t want to show it. Even if... even if I don’t know what I want yet.” Ava leaned a little harder on him, and he caved and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Even if you’re still a major ass most of the time.”

Connor sighed and kept a straight face. “Urban legend says they call me an ‘ass’ because I have a great one.”

A sharp shove was delivered to his side as she pushed herself off him. “You pig!” Ava gasped and made a show of scooting a few feet away from him. “Besides, we all know the trophy for ‘best ass’ belongs to women and not men. My one ex, and I swear she looked exactly like Blake Lively, she pulled off skinny jeans like nobody else. Don’t even get me started on the leather skirts...” She broke into a bout of uncontrollable laughter that colored her face a deep crimson.

Connor blinked a few times as he absorbed what she said. “Are you...?” He stopped, then tried to rephrase it. “Oh, you’re, uh--”

Her mischievous smile slipped into a puzzled frown. “What?”

“Your ex was a...” Connor trailed off again, sure he wasn’t handling this correctly.

Luckily, she caught on then. “You didn’t realize I’m bi?”

“Well, no...”

Ava sighed and tugged at her scarf. “I wish it wasn’t something that had to be  _ said.  _ I wish it could just...  _ be.  _ I can exist this way without it being a big revelation.”

Connor  _ definitely _ knew he was balking too much at this now. He backpedaled rapidly and said, “So you had an ex who was Blake Lively’s doppelganger? I’m jealous.”

Ava met his eyes and she visibly shed the frustration. “Yes,” she said slowly, regaining the attitude of a casual conversation. “Yes, she was basically the South African equivalent.” 

Together, they chuckled, and Connor watched her curl forward as the laughs tumbled out of her the way her hair tumbled out of her knitted hat and down her shoulders. He wanted to kiss her with all the energy he had left, but he knew better than to do that.

Then, one after the other, their rides finally pulled up. Connor beat Ava to her car and bent down to open the door for her. She rolled her eyes and gave his arm a squeeze as she got in. Right before he closed the door, she stared up at him and he could tell she had one last thing left to say. 

“Friends?”

He knew it wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear. That didn’t make this F-bomb hurt any less. 

At his hesitation, some wrinkles formed on her forehead. “Connor, please don’t think I didn’t like what happened tonight. I liked it very much. I just... need to mull it over before--”

“Before possibly sacrificing our friendship? I get it.” He tapped his fingernails on the edge of the car door; her Uber driver was certainly getting an entertaining earful.

“And for the sake of my job,” she said.

He nodded. If he could, he would have reached out to stroke her hair, but she was already melting away into the darkness of the backseat. “Friends,” he told her.

Ava grinned. Before he could close the door for her, she fastened her hand on it and pulled it shut herself.


	11. day eight hundred & thirty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **please note there is a vague allusion to past assault in this chapter. it's just one sentence, but it's there. there's also mentions of drug/alcohol abuse.
> 
> also, see end notes for translations (which are hopefully as accurate as possible!) because sorry, i just really love bilingual ava (i'm sure she knows more than 2 languages, but i as the writer unfortunately don't)

Ava had really been counting on the hope that she wouldn’t gain weight between mid-April and now, but life had taken her hope and mercilessly flushed it down the drain. Now here she was, in a bridesmaid dress that pinched her a little too much at the waist, standing on the beach of the first Windy City she had called home.

Her dress was pale blue, and was a little shorter than she was comfortable with, especially considering the breeze whistling by from the ocean. Every time the taunting wind came by, it lifted the hem of her gown and sent a chill over her bare legs. But in all honesty, she could be relaxing in a spa right now and would still be uncomfortable as long as she was back in _ Die Baai. _ Or, as she preferred to call it, _ haar persoonlike hel _ \- her personal hell _ . _

But she also had to remind herself who she was here for: Mina. Mina, her first best friend. Mina, who had called her back in January and told Ava she was getting married and asked her to be her maid of honor.

Ava had responded without really thinking it through. _ “Yes!” _ she cried. _ “Of course I will, langeraad.” _

Then after she hung up the phone, she sat down and stared at the floor for a while. Fuck, she really didn’t want to go back to South Africa. Just a minute ago she had spoken something in Afrikaans, something that used to feel like second nature but now felt foreign on her tongue. But talking to Mina again had brought all those old instincts right back, all their old pet names for each other in the language she used to think in and write out. Ava had really thought she was becoming too American, but it turned out some of the ingrained aspects of her old life weren’t as faded away as she believed.

So she bought herself a plane ticket, got fitted for her dress, took a week off work, boarded a flight, and ended up back here on the coast of Port Elizabeth.

Ava stood and watched Mina and her new wife walk gleefully down the aisle together. It was a beautiful ceremony. Ava would never forget the way Mina and Lethabo gazed at each other while their hands were bound together with string - the age old tradition of literally “tying the knot.” Now everyone was yelling out _ “Baie geluk! _Congratulations!” as the brides walked past.

Ava waited a minute before following them, the bouquet of lilies in her hands sagging as if in relief that all eyes were no longer on them.

The reception was a few blocks away, outside under a vast tent. Ava scanned over faces she hadn’t seen in years, then panicked and made a beeline for the bar. If she was expected to make small talk with a few certain somebodies, then she that required at _ least _tipsy status.

She ordered something, and once she got the drink she wasted no time introducing the familiar burn to her throat and stomach. It would need time to absorb into her system.

But, alas, too soon an ex of hers wandered over, face bright. It was the Blake Lively look-alike ex, in fact; Zoe was still gorgeous, with thick blonde waves, tan skin, and dimpled cheeks. She also happened to be very clingy, and that was the reason Ava dumped her after just under two years of dating. It had been one of the longest relationships she ever had.

“Ava!” Zoe squealed, pulling her into a hug that caused Ava’s drink to topple dangerously close to the rim. Ava adopted the mannequin technique: be stiff as a board, and be mute. Zoe picked up on the mood and stepped back. “Oh, come on, you’re really going to make this weird?”

“Well, you said it, not me,” Ava retorted. She occupied her mouth with drinking while Zoe blinked at her like a kicked puppy. Ava sighed into her glass and wished it was socially acceptable to just tell people to get the fuck out of her face. It would be so simple and easy.

“Can we at least talk?” Zoe begged. Ava tried to look anywhere besides her face, her very pretty face, her very pretty and... convincing face. Damn it.

“Talk about what?”

Zoe shifted her weight, doing that same nervous thing Connor always did. _ “Ek mis jou, _Ava. I miss you. I only want to know how you’re doing. What’s the United States like?”

She looked genuinely interested. Ava shrugged nonchalantly. “Not any cleaner or dirtier than here. Much better Internet, though.” Her eyes flicked to Zoe’s annoyingly cute dimples. _ Distract yourself, Ava. Think of Connor’s scrunchy angry pug face. _But thinking about him didn’t make her feel any less sweaty, so to take away from that she blurted, “How are things back here in The Bay?”

“Not very changed from when you left. I dated someone for a while but we broke up last month.”

“Oh, I see. So you’re hunting for a good rebound? I wouldn’t recommend your ex-girlfriend for that,” Ava said, flashing a simper around the rim of her glass.

Zoe shook her head, her features hardening into stone. “Okay. You know what? Never mind. Pretend I never tried to have a simple conversation with you. Goodbye, Ava.”

Once she was gone, Ava let out a breath she’d been fully aware she was holding. Her lungs ached, her head ached, her feet ached in these stupid heels. She continued to roam around among the crowded tables, which reminded her fondly of Maggie’s bustling cafe. God, she missed those lemon macarons. And this really wasn’t like Maggie’s at all, because there she felt like she fit in somewhere between the sticky tablecloths and cheerful voices and sound of chairs scraping the floor. Here, she was the maid of honor but she was lost and unwelcome on her home turf.

Mina and Lethabo came up to greet her after a while. This was great news to Ava, because now that the brides had tracked her down, she would be able to discreetly make her exit after this.

“I’m so happy you could make it, _ bokkie,” _ Mina said. She squeezed Ava’s hands affectionately. “I hope you’ve been having a good time.”

“Yes, I have,” Ava lied. She hugged her best friend and kissed both her best friend’s cheeks and her heart broke. _ “Sterkte,” _she said then, smiling at them. “Good luck and much love to you both.”

Five minutes later, she had downed the rest of her third drink, peeled off her heels, and was sitting in the back of a grimy cab. Then five minutes after that she was back at the dark house. She wiggled her key in the lock and stepped in; all the lights were off and the furniture was just shapeless blobs for her to bump into. She still had to take her meds, and it was at least three hours late. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She was rummaging around in the kitchen, blindly shoving her hand in a cabinet when the lights flicked on.

“Ava, my light,” her mother greeted her; on the surface, it sounded friendly. But Ava knew Nina Bekker’s words were like leftovers in the microwave: warm on the outside, ice-cold on the inside. “How was the wedding?”

Ava felt her the tendons in her hand go rigid as her fingers closed on a glass. Slowly she took it out of the cupboard and filled it with water at the sink. Not a wise choice to drink the tap in this area, but fuck it. She was immune to practically every pathogen after growing up here. “‘s good,” she mumbled while taking a sip to ready her parched throat for the pills.

“‘It was good’? That’s all you have to say about your best friend’s wedding?” Nina asked. Ava heard the scrape of chair legs on the worn yellow linoleum. She was still leaning against the counter with her back to her mother because _ god _she was not sober enough to deal with this. First she couldn’t get drunk enough and now she wasn’t sober enough.

“She’s... not really my best friend anymore, Ma,” Ava sighed. “We... like, don’t ever talk anymore.” She dropped the correct dosage on her tongue and washed it down with the metallic water. She liked to imagine the Zoloft was a couple of tic-tac candies, something sweet and innocent fizzing into her bloodstream.

The chair creaked with impatience. “You were her maid of honor.”

Ava coughed into her next sentence. “That doesn’t mean anything.” 

As usual, the subject shifted without warning. “What was that you just swallowed?”

She stared out the little window and watched moths swarm the porch light. “Water?”

“Those were pills, Ava.”

Unhurriedly, Ava turned around and pressed the small of her back into the counter until her spine cracked. The dress bit into her hips. She needed to get out of this sausage casing. “I don’t have to answer that question if... if I don’t want to,” she said.

Nina squinted at her. “Jesus. How much have you drank tonight?”

Nothing. Moths swarmed her brain, and Ava closed her eyes. She really wanted to lay down. Just for a minute. 

“Ava--”

“Ma, please.”

“I’m just--”

“Ma, I’m thirty years old.” Ava was going to say something else, but she forgot what it was.

She hated how much she resembled her mother. When she got here earlier in the week, she sat in the living room for hours and paged through photo albums, mainly to see her dad again. But she really saw it now, in the old pictures, the way her mother’s smile crouched behind her own. Nina Bekker was Ava’s age now when she had her, and Ava was an only child because her mother almost died when she was born. It was funny because her father’s heart gave out when she was six anyway. (Should’ve become a surgeon at five years old, she could’ve saved him, right, Ma.) The only thing Ava claimed from him was his eyes, and not the color. She wasn’t sure where the murky brownish hazel came from. No, she meant the way little crinkles used to appear around his eyes when he laughed, and the certain way his eyes revealed everything going on behind them. She inherited that.

Ava had sat on the sagging couch and looked at a picture of her father, stared into his clear blue eyes. She always loved blue eyes, envied them, because of him. The photo next to that one was a blurry Polaroid of her parents with two-year-old Ava sitting in her dad’s lap. The way her mother was gazing at her father, a look Ava herself had never been on the receiving end of... it made her think of Connor. What did he see when she looked at him? Did he feel the way her mother made her dad feel? What did Ava show him in her eyes?

The silence stretched between her and Nina, and Ava knew the silence was a putty she could stretch and mold any way she wanted. She could stretch it all the way out of the room and snap it in two with a slam of her bedroom door. She could play with it and stare challengingly at her mother. She could form it into a ball and toss it out the window and just talk now.

Nina took the power from her, though. “I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow. The week has gone by so fast.”

Ava dipped her head and touched her chin to her chest, hunched her shoulders. Her eyes were so dry and caked with flaky mascara. “Really?” she hummed. “It felt slow to me.”

“Ava Lesedi, there’s something I’ve been... putting off telling you. But I know I must do it before you’re gone again.”

It must be serious if her middle name was involved. Ava found it funny it meant “light” when she was really anything but. She was dark inside, she was heavy and weighed down with things. She lifted her head and stared at her mother expectantly.

Before the silence had a chance to become thick in the air again, Nina stirred it. “I have cancer. Metastatic.”

Ava braced herself against the aged formica and stared straight ahead. “Where?” she asked flatly.

“It’s metastatic, Ava. It started in my lungs but it’s everywhere now.”

She had only asked where because she didn’t know what else to say. The prognosis couldn’t be good, that was certain. So she was going to be an orphan at thirty years old - although she’d really been an orphan since she was six, when Ian Bekker’s heart gave up. Since she was twenty-six, when Nina’s boyfriend started to look at her and touch her all wrong.

“I hope you’ve stopped with the smoking, because look what it’s done to me. But I don’t know anything you do over there, so far away from me.” Nina got up, joints trembling, and turned off the light as she left the room.

Ava went to the drawer where she knew her mother kept her cigarettes. There was still a half-empty pack of Camels, probably untouched for months now. She picked it up and carefully slid one out, watching the dust flutter in the dead air. Why was everyone so fucking upset about her leaving? What did they expect her to do? There was nothing for her here. She was tired of the sad glances from Mina and the downturned dimples in Zoe’s cheeks and her mother’s ongoing sighs.

She went outside and stood under the buzzing porch light with the moths. Chicago was superior to here in so many ways. Chicago had room for growth, Chicago had macarons and laughs, Chicago had Connor and Chicago had the way Connor looked at her. She didn’t deserve it, but it was there.

It took a few tries for the tired lighter to ignite, but soon she was smoking again for the first time in a long time, and she hated herself.

* * *

Connor was playing some stupid racing game he liked when Ava’s face popped up on his screen. He crashed the virtual car and answered the call.

“Ava?” he said, propping the pillow higher behind his back. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

“Why... wouldn’t I be?”

He caught the elongated slur in her words. She was a bit wasted. It was after the wedding, so that wasn’t too surprising. But she sounded too off for his comfort. “I- I don’t know,” he said. He leaned over to check the time on the digital bedside clock. “It’s past 8:30 here, so isn’t it, like... three in the morning for you?”

“Mmm...” her voice crackled into his ear. “Mmmaybe I’m a morning person. Maybe. _ Miskien. Verstaan jy?” _

“Hey, don’t go switching languages on me.”

She giggled, and it was so uncharacteristic he had to pull back the phone from his ear and make sure he was talking to the right person.

“Ava,” he said, returning the phone to his ear. “Ava, I think you should go to bed now. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“No, no,” she mumbled. She sounded so far away, like she was calling across the ocean that currently separated them. “You’re my... my friend, you’re not supposed to be... mean.”

A grin threatened to overtake his concerned frown; “friend” wasn’t a word Ava Bekker used lightly. It delighted and ravaged him at the same time.

He yawned. “I’m not being mean. I’m telling you as your friend” - he almost added _ and your boss, _but it felt wrong - “to get some rest. Okay?”

“Already tried that.” There was a muffled noise, as if she was switching the phone to her other ear. “No, I- I fucked up, Connor. I’m not supposed to do it.”

“Do what?” Her tone was making this unsettled feeling stir up in his stomach, so he reverted to teasing to keep himself at ease. “Don’t tell me you’re smoking again.”

“Oh! I did that too.” She paused, and his heart thudded through his t-shirt. “N- no, they said not to drink when I’m on it but--”

Now he was definitely alarmed. Connor sat up abruptly and started to kick the sheets off his legs until he realized - she wasn’t just a quick car ride away. She was on another continent. Defeated, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat hunched over, hand ruffling his hair. “On it? On what, Ava?”

She coughed. “What? Oh, um, Zo- Zoloft. They said don’t--”

“Zoloft? You take Zoloft?” This was news to him. 

She kept talking over him. “... said don’t do that, but I do it all the time and I’m usually fine, just get a headache or... whatever. B- but tonight has been a lot and _ Connor, _I wish I- I wasn’t here, I wish I was back in Chicago. This is so, so shitty.”

In a flash, Connor put her on speaker and pulled up Google, typing in the search bar _ side effects of mixing alcohol and zoloft. _ His eyes skimmed frantically over the results: _ dizziness, nausea, drowsiness, anxiety, headaches... _

It didn’t seem like anything super serious or deadly, but it still obviously wasn’t _ good. _ And... she did it all the time? He felt sick.

“Listen to me, Ava,” he said firmly. His mouth was nearly pressed right on the phone screen, and he wished it was her cheek so he could plant a kiss there and tuck her into bed and make sure she was really fine. But she was so far away. “Listen, you need to go lay down in bed and try to sleep, even if you can’t. Just stay in the house, in your room, and be safe until morning. Remember, your flight back home is tomorrow.”

He had already been worried the entire week, now that he was mulling over it. She hadn’t called or messaged him at all since she left on Monday. He let it go, not wanting to swarm her, and besides, they were only friends. Friends could go a week without speaking. But still... when you _ care _ about somebody, you _ call _them. The least she could’ve done was shoot him a text. But this was what he got, and now she could be in danger and he wasn’t exactly on standby a few miles away.

“Tomorrow. Right,” she said.

“Exactly. You’ll get to see my annoying face again very soon,” Connor replied. “Just go to bed, and... think about that while you’re falling asleep.”

She exhaled. It tickled his ear like she was actually there, in the room, next to him. “I already do that anyway.”

Connor lost his pulse for a moment, but regained it when she continued, “I’m- I’mma go to bed now. _ Goeie nag.” _

She hung up immediately after, but he still whispered “Good night, Avey” into the phone anyway.

He hoped she got some sleep that night, because he definitely did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Die Baai = Port Elizabeth (and PE is also nicknamed the Windy City, just like Chicago, which I didn't even realize until I did research. Funny coincidence lol)  
Haar persoonlike hel = her personal hell  
Langeraad = basically an affectionate nickname meaning "tall person" (Not positive about accuracy of this, but I guess the closest I can relate it to is Ava calling Mina a beanpole, but in a friendly way? So Mina is the taller of the two of them)  
Baie geluk = congratulations  
Ek mis jou = I miss you  
Bokkie = sweetheart  
Sterkte = good luck  
Miskien = maybe  
Verstaan jy? = do you understand?  
Goeie nag = good night


	12. day eight hundred & thirty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **same warnings as last chapter! nothing explicit at all but it's still there.

Her entire first day back, Ava avoided Connor. It was painfully obvious in the way she scurried out of the break room when he entered, and told the cashier to make her order to-go when he walked into Maggie’s. In a way, though, Connor saw it as a good thing, because then it at least meant she had some recollection of their conversation on the phone a couple nights ago. And above all, he was just so glad to see she was still alive and apparently functioning okay (he wouldn’t place an emphasis on “okay,” though).

Though it aggravated him, he decided to let her be for today and try to talk to her tomorrow. Surely she needed time to recuperate, and he didn’t want his face bitten off if he insisted on asking her about what happened in South Africa.

Ava was still bent over her desk, furiously typing away when Connor walked past at the end of the day. He was leaving an hour late as it was, so it intrigued him to see her stay was going to outlive his. She had kept up with her work virtually while overseas, but maybe there were plenty of emails still to catch up on. He almost stopped and spoke to her then, and even considered bringing her a fresh coffee from the Keurig. He wanted to do that so badly. But again, he let her go and continued going by. 

He had to stop at Whole Foods on the way home to pick up something for dinner. He wasn’t that hungry but he wasn’t about to pretend he forgot to eat again - not that anyone knew or cared whether he ate or not. Reluctant as ever, he took a long, meandering route through the city streets to get there, purposely coming to a full stop at every stop sign. He didn’t really want to go home either.

Nearly forty-five minutes later, Connor sighed heavily as he passed through the sliding glass doors. He hated grocery stores. Even swanky ones like Whole Foods stressed him out with its long lines and overwhelming selections. How many goddamn brands of quinoa could there be, anyway? It was quinoa, a natural grain or whatever it was. Surely it all came from the same place.

He wandered over to the hot bar and grabbed a container to fill with vegan dumplings or whatever crap ended up within arm’s reach. As he was scooping green beans, he caught a flash of a red blouse he had seen somewhere earlier today. A few feet away at the salad bar was Ava, hair falling in her face as she strained to capture some spinach with a pair of tongs. She wore red a lot - hell, even her car was red - and he knew why. It looked so good on her. It rubbed a blush into her cheeks and gave her an eye-catching, commanding presence.

She hadn’t spotted him yet, and Connor wasn’t sure whether he should approach her or not. Now that they were in a more casual setting... maybe things wouldn’t be so bad? Swallowing any doubts, he closed his food container and came over to her, keeping a polite distance so as to not alarm her. He opened his mouth and - 

“Hello, Connor,” she said. She hadn’t even looked up from where she was drizzling balsamic vinaigrette on her salad. He reeled back, startled. Did she have a third eye hidden somewhere in plain sight?

“Oh!” he said. “You, uh, you saw me.” He chuckled. “How’re you doing? I guess it was a busy day, we didn’t have time--”

“Listen, I really can’t talk right now. I’m pretty tired and I have to get home.” Ava closed her container and secured a rubber band around it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before he could blink, she was marching away. Connor stood frozen, debating a million choices in his head, then he called after her, “Ava, wait! Please.”

To his surprise, she actually stopped, but he saw the hesitant jerk of her muscles as she halted, and the sag in her shoulders when she glanced halfway back, waiting for him to say what he wanted to say - something which even he didn’t know. He wished she would look directly at him; if for anything at all, at least so he could get to see those eyes. He had learned that the eyes always told him all he needed to know. (Maybe she knew that too, and that was why she was focused on a shelf of gluten-free baked goods instead.)

“If you’re going to say something, then say it. I have fish to feed.”

He tilted his head. “You have fish?”

“It’s an expression.” She chewed her lip, and shot him a shard of a glance. “Well--?”

It slipped out before he could stop it: “Not any expression I’ve heard of.”

Ava gave a little stomp and stormed right up to him so she could stab a dagger-like finger into his chest. “For god’s sake, Connor! I don’t have the time or energy to deal with this. Spit it out or I’m going to impale you with a baguette right here in this goddamn Whole Foods!” His gaze followed her jabbing index finger to a rack of the offending weaponized bread.

She kept her voice low, but now that their posture looked so blatantly unfriendly, Connor knew there had to be unwelcome eyes on them. Swallowing hard, he said, “Let’s talk outside.”

“If we go outside, I’m getting in my car and driving away.”

“Damn it, Ava, please. Just please, can we talk? Give me five minutes to compile my thoughts and pay for this food I won’t eat and meet me outside by the exit. Okay?”

Her face softened the tiniest bit. “Fine.”

They purposely went to separate check-out lanes, and as promised, five minutes later they were again facing each other outside at the edge of the cramped parking lot. It was a mild May night, the sun’s rays only just starting to lengthen and flatten the way they did at dusk.

Connor had bought himself five extra minutes to think of something decent and elaborate to say. But in the end, all he could come up with was a basic question full of meaning. “Are you okay?” he asked her.

She laughed. “That’s your big question? Wow.” She crossed her arms and fixed her eyes on something that wasn’t him. “I’m fine. More or less.”

“It’s just that... after that phone call the other night...” The rest of the sentence died on his tongue. Connor knew he had to tread carefully, but he couldn’t even see the possible places he could step on; it was all shrouded in uncertainty.

Luckily Ava picked up on what he initiated. “I apologize for that. I drank a bit too much at Mina’s wedding. I know you’re my... my friend, but you’re also my boss and that makes it unprofessional. Trust me, it won’t happen again.” She swung her grocery bag back and forth. “Was that all?”

“No,” he said. “No... I’m- I’m still worried about you, Ava.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Connor, please have some compassion. I was drunk and not in my right mind. It’s humiliating for me to think about it. Please, can we move past it already?”

He was crossing into dangerous territory, but it had to be done. “Avey, you told me that you took Zoloft while drinking. And that it’s something you do regularly.”

Some color left her face as well as her eyes. Even her shirt suddenly appeared less vibrant. “I said that,” she muttered, and it was more a statement than a question. 

“Yes, you did. And I’ve done some research, it’s really not recommended for--”

“I’m also not your patient and you’re not my doctor, or a doctor at all for that matter. Don’t you think I’ve heard the same spiel from my actual doctor? I know it can make everything worse.”

He made eye contact and held it, making sure to anchor himself so she couldn’t look away again. “Then why do you do it?” he murmured.

Ava shook her head. “Hasn’t killed me yet. I know it isn’t _ good, _Connor. I know that. There was a good reason it was more... pronounced than usual the other night.”

“Ava... there’s never a good enough reason to put your health at worse risk--”

Her glare was acidic, and it eroded whatever confidence he had left. “Connor, my mother is fucking dying. She waited to tell me until my last night there, and she made sure to bookend that announcement with her usual negative critique on my life choices. I was already tipsy from the wedding, and I took my prescribed dose of medication, and then added one cigarette on top of that, because why not? Y- you have to understand, going back there was like... like hitting a reset button in my mind.”

The first part to hit him was that it was the first time she ever admitted to him she smoked. “You... smoke?” he said.

“No, I don’t smoke.” She blinked up at him through a misty screen of tears. “Were you listening to _ anything _I just said?”

He nodded. “I was listening. I was. I’m- I’m sorry. About your mom.”

The paper bag crinkled in her hands. It was too loud, harsh, in the quiet parking lot. Ava sniffed and gave him the faintest grin. “My mom’s been dead for years. It’s the shell of her that has the cancer.” The bag crackled again, paper screaming in his ears. “Good night, Connor,” she said.

* * *

Ava kept her pace steady as she walked away from him. She wanted to stay rooted in place but at the same time she wanted to sprint away and hear him call for her again. Instead she drowned everything else out and focused on her car’s headlights blinking on when she hit the unlock button on the key fob.

She opened the driver side door and pressed one knee into the seat, leaning over the console to drop the bag on the passenger side floorboard. It was dusk, and the humming lamppost she was parked by was making up for what the turquoise sky now lacked in light. She caught a glimpse of moths fluttering around it, and suddenly the lamppost in the Whole Foods parking lot was the porch light on her childhood home. She remembered the way the porch light outlined the sharp edges of his grizzled face, accentuated shadows in a valley of steel gray stubble. He kissed her mother with the same mouth.

“_Ava!” _

She jumped and slammed her head into the car’s ceiling. “Shit,” she spat, backing up and standing upright, peering around her surroundings. Didn’t... didn’t someone just call her name?

Connor was nowhere to be seen. Frantically she raked her eyes over the quiet area until at last she spotted him on the opposite end of the lot from her. He probably parked all the way in the back so his precious Porsche wouldn’t get one of its doors dinged.

Her nerves were crawling in her skin. The flickering light, and the moths, and the darkening sky were all a bit much. She leaned on her car and jingled her keys, watching him load his bag into the slate gray coupe.

_ “I’m still worried about you, Ava.” _ He had _ said _that. Him, Connor Rhodes, the man who once regarded her like a pest whenever she entered the room. When did he trade the fly swatter for open arms - and why? What exactly was keeping her from surrendering her weapons and waving the white flag? At this point, she realized, it was only herself holding her back.

Ava nudged the car door shut and took off across the parking lot, ballet flats slamming painfully on the pavement. “Wait!” she shouted. His head snapped up, or maybe he had already been looking at her, because he was prepared with a smile. Her lungs were bursting and the soles of her feet ached, but she was right there in front of him and the only thing stopping her now was nothing.

She held either side of his face and brought him into a long kiss. They sighed into each other, tensed muscles relaxing as he pulled her flush to him. She arched her spine backwards over the side of his car when he came on more intensely. His lips traced the edges of her mouth and trailed along her jawbone. Unable to resist a playful battle for dominance, she ducked her head to recapture his lips onto hers again. She grasped the back of his head, applying plenty of pressure and lightly grazing her nails down the back of his neck. His hands were at her waist, and a groan escaped her throat when she felt cool fingers brush the skin below her shirt. It was incredible how she was so focused on pleasuring him yet also very aware of what he was doing to please her; the feeling of mutual satisfaction had never been so innate for her before.

The moment ended when a car rolled past them and double-honked its horn at them. Awash in bright headlights, Ava’s eyes popped open and she remembered that they were not exactly in the most private of places. Connor scowled and mouthed something at the driver, and the car drove off. Alone again, he turned back and pressed his forehead to hers. His hands were still under her shirt, massaging the small of her back. “So... what does this mean?” he hummed.

“I guess it means... I don’t think you’re so bad,” she answered. 

He laughed. “I don’t think you’re so bad either.” He planted another kiss on the corner of her mouth, light as a feather, and she smiled. “I like you a lot, Avey.”

She stayed in the embrace even as the adrenaline from making out faded away and a renewed sense of doubt set in. “But you’re my boss,” she whispered, as if making the words quieter meant they weren’t true.

“Oh, screw that,” Connor said. “I don’t care. You know, sometimes it feels like you’re the boss of me. So forget about being professional, because frankly, I think making out in a Whole Foods parking lot is far from a professional relationship.”

Ava nodded. She could still feel the smile stretching her sore and kiss-swollen lips. In fact, she wasn’t sure if it was possible to stop smiling ever. “We’ve stepped far past that boundary,” she agreed. “So fuck it.”

“Yes. Fuck it.” Connor was laughing heartily now, raising his face to the nearly-black sky. “Fuck all of it!”

She smoothed her hand over his jet-black hair, still stiffened by a light layer of gel. “We do have work tomorrow, though,” she pointed out.

He caught on. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

It was only a couple hundred feet of distance, but Ava soaked in every step alongside him. Her fingers were woven into his and it would take payment of several more kisses to detach them.

Then she was sitting behind the steering wheel with the window rolled down. Connor had his head poked through and tipped to the side, unapologetically admiring her because now he could. She fiddled with the keys in her lap. “You... you make me want to get better,” she told him. “I just have to do it on my own time.”

He didn’t say anything, just leaned farther into the car and hugged her. It was a minute before words were mumbled into her tousled hair. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that.” Then he stepped back so his eyes could find hers again. “And... I- I don’t know how long this struggle has existed in your life, the... the need for you to take this medication. I know you don’t want my ‘sorry,’ so I’ll just say that no matter what, I am here for you, Avey. Always.”

Her throat was a bit raw from swallowed back tears, and now it broke into two hearing him say “Avey” again. It made her weak. “Thank you,” she said.

The car had been started and the window rolled up for maybe two minutes when there was a knock on the glass of the passenger side window. Ava looked over and unlocked the door to let him in.

Connor collapsed into the seat sideways; she only had a second to take in how awkward he looked before he was kissing her again and her eyes could only slide shut in pure bliss.

She couldn’t help breaking it soon after. “Say it again,” she croaked, mouth moving right against his, and just that touch drew them to lock lips and suck away each other’s breath all over again.

But he’d been listening. “Say what?” he panted.

“My name.”

Ava’s eyes were closed, but she felt his smile and breath warm on her skin. “Avey,” Connor mumbled. “Be mine, Avey Bekker.”

She couldn’t say no to that.


	13. day one thousand & four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warning: gun violence in this chapter

Using time at work to get some premature Christmas shopping done was not actually how Ava wanted to spend the hours cooped up in her cubicle. However, those early Black Friday deals weren’t about to hunt down themselves.

She spent a solid forty-five minutes scrolling aimlessly on Amazon looking for a gift for Connor’s sister. Now that they were a couple, Ava felt obligated to buy Claire a present despite Connor’s protests that there was no need. She thought it was the polite thing to do, even if it wasn’t reciprocated. The only problem was that Claire lived far away and the gift would have to be shipped, and the easiest way to do that was via online shopping. Ava wasn’t fond of online shopping. It made her nervous ever since Natalie told her about the time she thought she’d ordered a human-sized dress only for it to arrive doll-sized and suddenly ridiculously overpriced.

It was a sleepy Wednesday in the office, and Ava was positive she wasn’t the only one doing off-task things at their computer. She could hear Will chuckling at something from not too far away, and Ethan and April were sharing a hushed, tense conversation that wasn’t too hushed to Ava since she was only two desks away from them.

Now Ava was at a roadblock between a cashmere scarf or a box of chocolates. Sighing, she got up and stretched, stealing a quick glance at the time. _ Shit, _was it seriously after three o’clock? Talk about being unproductive; there were still easily seventy unread emails begging for her attention, and there was no way in hell that was getting done in under two hours.

She walked to the break room and coaxed a bag of pretzels out of the stubborn vending machine. Then she sat at the table with a coffee mug of water (they were out of the little paper cones) and started chipping away at the emails on her phone. It was then that the text from Natalie popped up, because no day could ever stay quiet - 

_ Nat: Ava, I thought I should let you know. Something happened. _

Well, what was the use of keeping her in suspense? They weren’t starring in a drama. Ava crunched on a pretzel and typed,

_ Ava: What? _

_ Nat: They’re saying someone broke into the building. Like they got past the front desk and to the stairwell. _

Ava stared at the screen and the blinking cursor. She absently chewed her thumb nail and tapped out a response one-handed.

_Ava: Did they call the police?_

_ Nat: Yes, but it’s gonna take a few minutes for them to get here. Last I heard the person is in the east stairwell. _

_ Nat: Ava, they said he’s armed. When the security guards tried to pursue him, he threatened to shoot and they didn’t chase him. _

_ Ava: Shit. I have to tell Connor _

She felt faint. She could throw up the entire snack she just ate. Shakily, Ava stood and made her way over to Connor’s office. Before she could slip through the closed door, there was one last _ ding _from her phone which sounded too cheerful for the situation.

_ Nat: Everyone’s terrified. Nobody knows what’s happening. _

Ava never knocked on Connor’s door anymore, but this time she did out of old habit. His voice came through, poised and gentle: “Come in.”

Upon seeing who it was, his disinterested expression split into an adoring grin. “Avey? You know you don’t have to knock.”

“Yeah,” she said, then inwardly winced. It seemed she was already limited to short, choppy replies thanks to fear. “Right. I forgot.”

His face flattened out, but he still held more color in his cheeks than normal. “Is... something the matter?” When she didn’t speak right away, he added, “Please don’t tell me you’re stressing that much about Claire’s gift. I told you, you don’t have to--”

When she interrupted him, she kept her voice at a low volume. She meant it to convey calmness, but she was positive it only projected dread. “Connor, there’s... there’s someone, an intruder, in the east stairwell. They’re armed.”

Any remaining cheer was wiped from his face in an instant. “What?” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Are you joking?”

“Why the hell would I joke about this?”

Connor got off his chair and began to pace in front of his desk. Every time he breezed past her, she caught a whiff of his minty cologne. “How did you find out?”

“Natalie texted me. I don’t know who she heard it from,” Ava said. She watched for another couple seconds which seemed to tick by at a deafening volume in her head. “We don’t really have the time to pace around. I- I mean there must be something we can do, right? Like tell everyone to hide, or we could all cram into the elevator--”

“You’re right. We’re wasting time.” Connor whipped back behind his desk and started rummaging through a lower drawer.

“What are you do...” She trailed off when she saw the glint of a blade in his hand. 

“Pocket knife,” he muttered. “It’s all I have on me.” He dropped it into his pocket then took her arm gently. A few months ago, instinct would’ve screamed at her to throw him off, but right now Ava welcomed the touch. “Come on,” Connor said. “I’m going to make a quiet announcement to everyone, and you go tell Latham what’s going on. Hopefully the guy is slow at climbing stairs.”

_ He must be, if nothing’s happened yet, _ Ava thought wryly. _ Or he’s scheming before making his move. _That possibility unnerved her even more, and she swallowed back a shudder.

“You’d think with so many American shootings lately, there would be _ protocol _for this shit,” she snapped, more angry at the world than anything else.

“Yeah... I mean, there technically is something in place, but it’s not practiced enough.” He opened the door and glanced around. The office was still in order; Ethan and April were _ still _talking, Will was probably still surfing from one meme to the next, Dan was on the phone, Sam was typing, Crockett was loudly sipping the dregs of soda through a straw. All of this was about to be torn to shreds.

“So you’re saying we’re about to induce pure chaos,” she said. All Connor could do was nod. 

Ava had an awful feeling about this.

* * *

Once they were out the door, Connor nodded his head at Ava as a signal for her to go alert Latham in his secluded cave. Connor knew it was best to act casual, of course, but it was so difficult to not walk in a cautious crouch with his eyes peeled and back bent slightly. If anything, the overcautious pose felt _ more _natural than any alternative at this point.

Connor stood at the end of the line of cubicles, squeezing the rusted metal corner of Ava’s square of space. A few of the employees noticed him standing there before he cleared his throat, but once he did that he had their full attention.

He took a deep, steadying breath. “I want you all to stay calm,” he said in a level voice. “I want you all to think logically with me. Okay? There has... been a report of an armed intruder in the building, and last we heard he was currently in the east stairwell.”

Connor was aware he was talking at a normal volume, but he might as well have been yelling this info out. For all he knew, the dude was right on the other side of the door to the stairs, listening in. Connor felt like he was wearing an undercover wire meant to expose all of them to inevitable harm. Maybe they should barricade the door?

Will was the first to react. “What?” he whisper-shouted, eyes bugging out of his head. “Is this a-- are you... are you serious?”

“Yes,” Connor said. He was trying so hard to keep his face rigid and unemotional. (Imagining he was in the presence of his father helped bolster the mask a bit.)

Ethan stood up, his brow set. “Is there a plan?” He waved his hands impatiently. “Anything being put in motion? Or are we just going to stand here?”

Connor had thought Ethan might take a lead role in this. As a former lieutenant in the Navy, it only made sense that he would know how to get shit done in a sticky situation. Connor inhaled another painful, shallow breath. “Well, there’s...”

His hesitation provided Ethan all he needed to know. Connor stepped back and let the other man take charge despite the shame of cowardice scraping the bottom of his stomach. That was something he could address later, though.

“Okay. Because we don’t have a definite location on the intruder, the best option for us is to hide rather than run.”

Crockett lifted his hand in the air, and Ethan shot him an irritated glare. As always, Crockett had his eyes at half-mast and looked like he could be literally anywhere else besides an active shooter situation. He had his feet propped up on his desk, crossed at the ankles, and his chair was tilted back as far as it could go without losing balance. The plastic straw from his soda cup was now perched between his teeth like an extra long toothpick. The sheer audacity this man possessed was mind-boggling to Connor - yet at the same time, he could suddenly understand what about him had been so enticing to Ava.

_ “What, _Marcel? We don’t exactly have all the time in the world here.”

“Then stop wasting your breath scolding me and let me say what I wanna say.” Crockett’s tongue was soaked in his southern drawl, and _ shit, _Connor was maybe starting to sweat a little at the thought of him and Ava... together. Did he have a thing for accents? Or was he just trying desperately to think about anything else besides the matter at hand? Better go with the latter...

“What?” Ethan snapped.

Crockett raised his brows, and the ghost of a smirk settled at the ends of his mouth. “Why aren’t we runnin’?”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “For god’s sake. Okay. The reason we are not _ running _ is because the elevators are too slow to make a safe escape, the only stairwell open to us is the intruder’s current possible whereabouts, _ and _I doubt anybody wants to go sky-diving out the twelfth-floor windows. Understand?”

Crockett made a vague gesture and chewed his straw.

“So we are going to hide. I would suggest we all crowd into Connor’s and Latham’s offices, but at this point it’s not a suggestion, it’s an order.”

Sam frowned. “Why would we just sit and wait for the guy to attack us?”

Ethan moved away from his desk, holding April’s hand as everyone started to make their way back where Connor had just come from. “We’re sitting and waiting to attack _ him _if it comes down to it. There are plenty of impromptu weapons in their offices. Unfolded staplers can do a lot more damage than you might think.”

Connor was numb as he ushered everyone who could fit into his office. Then it hit him that Ava must be hiding out with Latham, and his stomach twisted. He didn’t want to be separated from her right now. He paused in the doorway, scanning over the swarm of wide-eyed, sweaty, scared people crouched on the carpet in his office.

“What are you waiting for?” Ethan asked him from where he sat in the corner next to April. “You need to close the door, okay, and slide that bookshelf in front of it for reinforcement. Then we just wait here until there’s an all-clear signal. Everyone’s watching their phones.”

Connor licked his parched lips. All he could manage to say was “But Ava.”

“But Ava what? Where is she?” April asked.

That was the last second Connor remembered having some kind of weak grasp on his sanity. This was supposed to be a quiet Wednesday. Where the hell did it go wrong?

There was a piercing slam from across the room, and Connor’s stomach dropped through all twelve floors of this cursed building. They should have barricaded the stupid door to the stairwell. Shit. He shot one last glance at Latham’s closed door, and hoped she was okay and safe in there. Then he swung the door shut and stood stiff on the other side of it, his slick hand slipping off the handle. The slip-up caused an earth-splitting _ clang _as the door trembled in its hinges.

“Come out, you cowards! I know you’re all hiding!” The voice was masculine, but it had a shrill undertone to it, like his throat was strained from previous screaming. Connor ground his teeth into a pulp while the gunman continued. “That’s all you big-name execs do anymore. Inflict harm, then go hide in your overstuffed bank vaults. How the _ fuck _do you sleep at night? Huh?”

Connor peeked at his phone. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since Ava first told him what was going on. The cops would have to get here any second. They had to. Right then, a text popped up from Ava and he had never been more grateful he’d had his phone on silent.

_ Ava: We barricaded ourselves in here. What’s happening out there? I hear yelling. _

_ Connor: He’s here on our floor. We all crammed into my office but it’s not _

He meant to finish his thought, but just then there was a crash from outside and Connor jumped, hitting send prematurely. He didn’t have time to worry about that now, because the intruder was going off again.

“Oops, didn’t mean to knock over your fancy iMac computer. What a _ shame."_ The mocking tone drilled right into Connor’s bones, and he bit down on his tongue to damn near the point of drawing blood.

“I know you’re listening, so I’m going to lay it out for you in simple terms. I want whoever is in _ charge _ here to come the fuck out and look me in the eyes. You do that, and no one gets hurt... for now.”

Connor felt several pairs of eyes on him, and he wrapped his hand around the doorknob with his back still to the door.

“Wait, Connor no!” Will whispered. He started to stand, but Connor wordlessly shook his head at him. “Connor, you can’t go out there, he’s going to--”

“Shut up,” Connor hissed.

“We can fight him with the stuff in here, w- we can...” Will seemed at a loss for words, reduced to whipping his head back and forth between Connor and his desk. Then, moving quickly, Will darted forward, snatched an object off the desk, and tossed it at Connor.

Connor didn’t notice nor care what it was; it was something to use as a weapon, and that was good enough. He wasn't inclined to stab anyone anyway. He caught it with one hand and held it, cool and heavy, behind his back. Then he turned around and opened the door just wide enough for him to slide out. The blinds he’d purchased recently for his office were luckily down, but he knew there were still patches of the room visible through the glass. There was no way they could’ve just waited it out peacefully.

The intruder was leaning against the edge of Ava’s cubicle, and Connor nearly leaped out of his skin. He hadn’t expected the guy to be right there in front of him, because his yelling had sounded like it was from farther away. But here the asshole was, one hand perched on his hip and holding a small revolver that had to be stolen. Connor was not an expert on firearms, but this one looked like the kind a cop would carry, not something a civilian would keep around the house. The man was of a short stature, with sparse gray-brown hair and a patchy beard. The skin underneath his wild eyes was red and puffy, and his sweatshirt had likely not met a washing machine recently, or ever. In short, he didn’t look well. He looked like a freshly escaped convict who had spent the past ten years subsisting on prison meatloaf and toilet water.

Connor had promised himself he wouldn’t speak because that would only provoke this dude, but his mouth wasn’t in sync with his brain. “What do you want?” he asked calmly. He kept his hands frozen behind his back.

“Well, now that you’re out here, you won’t know what I want next. Yet.” The gunman swaggered over to Connor and used his gun to tip the taller man’s chin upward. “So who are you, Mr. Bond? You the big boss around here?”

Connor swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard against his tie. “I’m the...” Then he thought a moment. If he said he was the V.P., this dick would insist on getting the President out here. Connor didn’t want to put Latham at risk, because exposing him would mean exposing Ava too. Grateful his brain was working at at least half-power, he continued, “I’m the President, yes.”

“President? Wow, okay, so we’ve got a Mr. Trump here. What’s your name?” the guy demanded. Some spit misted Connor’s face, and he tried not to gag. The man’s breath already supported the meatloaf-and-toilet-water theory, but Connor didn’t need remnants of that on his face.

“Connor Rhodes,” he said.

Suddenly, the expression on the guy’s face changed. His jaw dropped and he lowered the gun slightly. “You? _ You’re _ baby boy Rhodes? Wow. Can’t believe I’m meeting you face to face.” To Connor’s amazement, he then stuck out his hand for him to shake. “It’s _ so nice _to meet you, Rhodes. You’re great at what you do.”

“... yeah?” Connor said doubtfully. He loosely gripped the man’s hand, then quickly retracted it. 

“No, no, don’t be humble about it! Be proud!” The intruder spun around, walked away a few paces, then turned back to him. “Be proud that you took part in ruining my family! You feel good about that, yeah? You feel great? How much did you make from that fucking pacemaker, huh? What did you buy yourself as a treat? _ Huh? _I bet you have yourself a nice shiny Ferrari, or a Porsche maybe. Am I right?”

And now it all made sense. Connor shifted his grip on his weapon and looked into the man’s bloodshot eyes. “Hey, listen, man, I’m sorry something went wrong with the pacemaker that was installed in your loved one, but me and the people in this office have no direct tie to any mishaps that may occur on the operating table.”

“No, you listen to _ me!” _ Like lightning, the man was right back in Connor’s face in an instant. “The surgeons did everything right. But that stupid pacemaker from _ Dolen Rhodes Medical Manufacturers” _ \- he spoke the company’s name with a level of distaste Connor had never heard before - “it was faulty, and you sold it to millions of innocent people, _ sick _ people, who trusted you! One of them was my father, and now he’s fucking dead because the goddamn thing nicked an artery. So no, Mr. Rhodes, _ fuck you _and fuck all the people in this goddamn office! You’re all the root of it, and I think we both know that when you want something to stop growing, you cut it at the root.”

If Connor’s stomach was still in his body, it would be churning. But all he felt now was numb. He reminded himself that he still had some control here, that what he was holding could knock this guy out with a well-aimed swing at the right angle. But if he could talk him down first, maybe there wouldn’t be a need for violence.

“I- I’m sorry you feel that way. Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Todd. What’s it matter to you?”

“Because I want to get to know you, Todd, and I want to... to understand what went wrong with your father.” Connor took a breath. He could barely believe he was speaking so slowly and clearly when his mind was a hurricane. “But you have to listen to me, Todd. Do you really think that the... the correct answer to your grief is to hurt more people?” Todd just stared at him, and Connor hoped some of his words were sinking in. “Is this, what you’re doing right now, is this what your father would want?”

Todd appeared to be relaxing, but he still had the gun lifted and pointed at a place too close to Connor for his comfort. Bullets could ricochet. 

That was when a door faintly creaked open. Both men twisted around, and the gun was thrown all the way back up. Connor watched in horror, his eyes following an invisible path from the threatening barrel to Ava’s shocked face peering out from Latham’s office.

“No, Todd, please put the gun down. She won’t hurt you!” Connor begged. He didn’t give a shit about the edge of desperation in his voice anymore, one which was now more pronounced with Ava in the scene.

Todd chuckled. “I don’t care anymore about who hurts me. I’ve been hurt plenty. No, what I care about now is hurting _ you._” He stepped forward and pressed the icy muzzle of the gun into Connor’s chest. “You hear me, Mr. Rhodes?”

To Connor’s dismay, Ava didn’t retreat back into the office. She stepped out and shut the door softly behind her. With her hands raised, she walked over to them. “Todd. Todd Jenkins, right?”

“How do you know who I am?” Todd spat.

“I know you,” Ava said, “because I know your father’s case. It was brought to my attention recently. Your family sued our company, and it’s projected that you’ll win the suit.”

Todd sneered. “I don’t give a shit about money, lady! It won’t make a dent in Rhodes’ profits, and it won’t bring my dad back.” 

Ava nodded slowly. “I totally understand, Todd. I know your father is gone, but think about the rest of your family. You still have your mother, and your brother, and your son to think of. Don’t forget about them.” She and Connor shared a fleeting glance, and he was sure his heart must have been visibly pounding in his throat.

“You know that the sentence you’ll face for shooting and killing people is going to be a hell of a lot longer than a sentence for aggravated assault.” Ava looked steadily at the intruder. “Won’t you want to see your family outside of prison walls? If you don’t care about yourself, then... at least think about the rest of _ their _ lives.”

What happened next could have happened over the span of a minute or an hour. Connor would never be sure how long it took. The door to the stairwell slammed open to reveal a small group of officers with their guns drawn.

Todd’s gun was again facing Ava, and Connor’s brain unraveled. While the smaller man was spun around towards the cops, Connor reared back and slammed the heavy item he’d been holding into the side of Todd’s head.

It should’ve knocked him out cold, but Todd found a spare second to stay standing before he fell, spitting out a bloody tooth. And in that second the gun changed direction and fired.

The police rushed forward, Ava shrieked, and as Connor rapidly fell into a painful embrace with the carpet, he saw a stapler with a chrome finish, blood smeared over the engraved initials.


	14. day one thousand & fifty

Outside the gray sky was spitting icy rain, but inside Ava’s apartment it was warm.

Connor laid on the bed, his legs stretched out over the black and white paisley-patterned covers. When he saw Ava’s comforter for the first time, he had been surprised because it was a loud pattern, and it just didn’t seem like her. But by now he had grown used to it, sliding under them every night and waking up beneath them each morning with her next to him. He understood now that she didn’t really like comforters; she would get overheated quickly and when he saw her in the morning, painted in a sheen of golden sunlight, she had always inevitably kicked the covers off and had them crushed beneath her legs.

“When the heat’s on in here, it can get really overpowering,” Ava had warned him. But Connor liked the heat. He liked the way it sank into his bones when he wore a thick sweater, the way it stung his skin in a scalding-hot shower. Now he sat in a navy blue bathrobe on the bed with a nearly-finished mug of hot cider cupped in his hands. The TV sat just beyond his feet and was playing an episode of _ 90 Day Fiance, _ a trashy reality show they had gotten into recently. Ava was especially intrigued by it lately because this season featured a dim-witted American going to meet her South African fiance. Their segment was coming on next, so Connor was staying alert to the screen so he would know when to call her in.

_ “I just don’t know where it all went wrong,” _ a pouty-faced woman lamented on the TV. _ “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he was already married!” _

Connor sighed. He had already forgotten what this lady’s name was, but she annoyed him. He turned the volume down right as Ava’s favorite couple popped up on screen. “Avey!” he yelled, turning his head to the open doorway. “They’re on!”

“Oh, boy,” Ava said, scurrying in and crawling across the bed to her side. He’d finished his cider just in time for her to hand him some wine. “What’s Tiffany complaining about this time?”

“I’d suggest we take a drink every time she mentions Ronald’s gambling addiction,” Connor said, lifting his glass of wine, “but I’d be wasted before the first commercial break and you’d kick me out.”

“I would _ not _ kick you out, you asshat,” Ava laughed. She cast her eyes down at her can of nasty tangerine La Croix. It was the one drink, she said, that she could sip on instead of alcohol that tasted repulsive enough to make her feel like she was still drinking something hard. Connor had told her nearly a million times that he wasn’t going to drink around her as long as she was still on her medication, but Ava gave him a murderous look each time and insisted it was fine. _ “If the only reason you’re not drinking is because I’m avoiding it, I’m going to be pissed.” _So, even though it made him feel a little bad, he continued to consume his usual amount in front of her and pretended not to notice the unenthused glances she aimed at her sparkling water.

They continued watching the show as if they were professional critics; Connor commented on every dumb move the American made, while Ava made sure to correct any misconceptions shown about her birth country.

“It’s stupid, too,” she said, “because I absolutely abhor South Africa. But that doesn’t mean it should be misrepresented.”

Eventually, after sitting through one too many commercials, Ava became restless and she started to slowly peel away his robe as if he was a ripe fruit waiting to be nibbled away at. Her barely-touched La Croix sat on the nightstand, now lukewarm, and she was pawing at the thin t-shirt covering his chest. Then her elbow dug in at a bad place, and he yelped softly.

She sprang back, panic written on her face. “Shit! I’m sorry,” she breathed, eyes flashing from his face to his shoulder. “Is your arm okay? Do you want me to get Advil--”

“No, no, Avey, I’m fine. You just leaned on it a little hard.” He lifted a hand to gingerly rub at the spot he had refused to look at in the mirror for almost two months. “Besides, you know I’m not good with swallowing pills. It’s like if something goes in my mouth, I have to bite down.”

Some of the guilt retreated off her face, and she snorted. “So is that why you bit my tongue really hard when we were kissing that one time?”

Connor scowled at her. Did she _ really _have to bring that up? “What, you didn’t like it?” he countered, and she only laughed harder. “Shut up.”

He waited until she had caught her breath somewhat before surging forward and snatching it away from her again. They made out for a solid minute, keeping their touches careful and lightweight. At one point he realized Ava didn’t even have her hands on him and they were only connected at the mouth. That was his favorite way to make contact with her, but he didn’t like that she seemed afraid to even poke him at times. He wasn’t made of glass bones and paper skin.

Pulling back, he reached his good arm up and used his thumb to stroke the side of her face as he held it. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

* * *

Ava knew what Connor saw when he looked at her, because he liked to tell her a lot; or, at least, she had an idea of what he saw. She knew she could never see herself exactly the way he saw her. She couldn’t understand how somebody who looked flawless all the time could love someone like her. She was an old coffee mug with chipped edges that could cut the corners of someone’s mouth when they drank from it.

“You don’t just like me when I’m all prettied up?” she asked, the words barely a whisper because the question didn’t deserve to enter the conversation. She’d asked it a million times already and he’d answered it twice as much.

He smiled, running his fingers through her hair. The little quotation marks around his eyes were there again, framing that blue, blue gaze. “Avey,” he said, because he never called her “baby,” because she was deserving of a pet name all hers, “Avey, I only like you when you’re breathing. I only like you when your eyes are hazel with those rings of green in them, and I only like you when you tolerate nobody’s bullshit, including mine.” Connor cupped his hand behind her head and brought her in so they could brush noses.

Ava had directed a passing glance into the mirror on her way here from the kitchen. She’d seen a tired, dull, makeup-less face framed by hair with a nasty case of bedhead, and a stomach with one sip of wine in it. But she had to believe him.

She shifted her position again, draping herself cautiously over his torso so that his bad arm wasn’t anywhere near any stabby elbows. Laying her head on his chest, she tuned her heartbeat to his and closed her eyes. His good arm was wrapped protectively over her, fingers woven in with hers.

After a stretch of quiet with the TV playing at a low volume, he said, “Thank you for taking care of me. I know I don’t say it enough.”

She hummed and craned her neck to look up at him. “You knew I would. I wasn’t about to let you go back to your cold, empty house alone.”

He smirked. “My house might be empty, but cold? You know better than anyone how much I like having the heat on full blast.”

“And you’re insane for that, but it’s okay.” She played with a loose thread on his robe and went on, “But no, it’s... nice. I needed someone to care for other than myself. It helps get my mind off of how much my life used to suck, and how I still treat myself ‘cause of it.”

Connor only grunted and held her closer. She laid there pressed into his chest, wondering if she was leaving an imprint there, and thought. It was three days before Christmas and they hadn’t had sex since before he was shot at the start of November. The past weeks were filled with kissing and cuddling and other less innocent touches, but he hadn’t rocked her in almost two months. She wanted to rock him now, straddle him over her ugly paisley-patterned comforter and ride him until his bad arm was numb.

She thought back to the first time they fell between the sheets together, in June. She had never worried less about something being perfect, because somehow she just knew instinctively that it would be. Every time she had seen Connor Rhodes in his natural form (toned limbs, a tiny amount of pudge below his belly button, tattoo spread over his upper back, birthmark on the edge of where his right hip stuck out) she felt another year being added to her miserable life. And whenever he opened his mouth and the dumbest shit came out of it, another two years were tacked on. She couldn’t stop it if she wanted to.

She propped herself up and asked him with a kiss. When they were bared to each other and the open air again that night, she didn’t look at the scar on his left shoulder, and he didn’t ask her not to. She knew.


	15. day one thousand one hundred & fifty-two

“Okay, so  _ maybe  _ I can understand why you insist on driving only a Porsche and nothing else. But you can’t say there’s anything wrong with a plain old, I don’t know, Toyota Corolla. Or a Prius.”

“It’s about the lumbar support, Avey,” Connor said. He leaned back down into the car to grab the box of cookies, keeping a hand on his cup of coffee, which was placed precariously on the roof of the car. “You can’t find good lumbar support in any ‘plain old’ cars these days. You gotta pay the big bucks for it.”

She rolled her eyes as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “Right. Because preventing a sore back is more important than gas mileage and safety.”

“Whoever said this little guy didn’t get good gas mileage?” Connor hefted the box up against his hip and nudged the door closed. 

Within seconds, Ava did a Google search on her phone and she held up the results to him. “18 miles per gallon? Are you kidding me?”

He grimaced, circling around the car to lead them toward the office building. “Okay... yeah, it’s not that great.”

Ava nodded. “To be fair, though, if you’re buying a Porsche then chances are you have the money to waste on your little gas guzzler.” Connor stuck out his tongue at her. They were almost at the front doors when she added, “I’m surprised you even let your coffee cup touch the paint on Mr. Grey. Are you going to get your coffee, by the way?”

Connor froze and blinked at her. “Did I... I left the coffee on the car, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

He tossed the box at her and jogged back across the parking lot. She laughed the entire time. Watching Connor run in tight work pants was entertainment in more ways than one.

Once they arrived on the twelfth floor, Connor had a line of sweat above his brow that the cool morning air had done little to combat. He swept a loose strand of hair back from his forehead and nodded hello to the receptionist. Ava discreetly pinched his ass before they parted ways when she went to set the box of macarons from Maggie’s on the breakroom table.

They knew this day was coming for a while now, and it was finally here. Latham had announced back in January that he was retiring, which was interesting because he wasn’t even that old. Still, he would be comfortable for the rest of his life, that was for sure. Technically Connor could retire right now if he wanted, but Ava knew as well as he did how restless he would be. (The Connor she knew now, the one who had been reshaping himself over the last few years, could be lounging on a white sand beach in Fiji and feel incredibly guilty about it.)

And now, after three months, today was the big guy’s last day in the office. Ava could count on one hand the number of meaningful words she had exchanged with Latham over the last three years. That didn’t mean she wasn’t disappointed to see him go. She was sure they must have bonded on that day last November, when his office was a bunker and Ava was quietly communicating with the police, walking on eggshells to preserve Connor’s life.

Ava wandered back out of the breakroom and headed to her desk. There was a buzz of excitement around her, filling the room with energy atypical of an office environment. This was even crazier than the time a brand new upgraded Keurig machine was brought in. Everyone around the office had been low-key about their anticipation for Latham’s last day. It was out of respect (and maybe fear) for the guy, of course, but also because everyone was holding back their undying curiosity over who would be taking over as President.

To Ava, that answer was obvious. She asked Connor if Latham had discussed anything with him about it, but every time he only shrugged casually and wouldn’t give her a straight answer. That told her all she needed to know - and she was delighted for him. Then, of course, that left who would become the new V.P. in Connor’s place. Maybe Will. He’d been here for a while.

As she sat down, Ava spotted Crockett peeking into the break room where the box of macarons lay exposed on the table. She rolled her eyes; did he really think he was being sneaky? “Marcel, those are for  _ later!”  _ she called out pointedly.

Crockett turned to her. Where most people would display an annoyed frown, he only smirked. “Alright, alright,” he said. “I hear you. But let a man admire in peace. Admiring is not the same as actually taking a  _ bite,  _ my dear.” He spoke the second part while snaking back past Ava’s chair, and a shiver forced its way down her spine at that. Cautiously, she sat up and peered over to where he was sitting back down at his desk; he met her gaze and winked not-so-subtly.

Damn, suddenly Ava wished she and Connor had made their relationship as obvious as possible to the others. She and Crockett had been broken up for well over a year now - almost two, in fact - and she  _ still  _ often caught suggestive glances and statements from him. Not that he knew she was taken, but if she hadn’t nibbled back by now, what was he thinking would happen?

A little after lunch, Latham finally emerged from his cave to make the speech everyone had been sitting on pins and needles waiting for. April had told him about the treats Connor brought in, so when the boss silently walked from his office to the breakroom, everyone stood and filed in after him like it was some kind of strange unspoken ritual (when really, this was about as out of the norm as things could get... not counting the shooting).

As soon as the last person had squeezed in by the fridge, Latham began. “Well, it has been... a rewarding fourteen years here at Dolen Rhodes. However, all good things must come to an end. With that said” - wow, he really was a man of few words - “I am eager to appoint my replacement, who will assume my position at the beginning of next week. This person has proven himself to be a competent salesman with a genuine drive for success, and I believe he has the skills and tools he needs to continue leading his father’s company towards prosperity.”  _ Right, because prosperity is all it’s about,  _ Ava thought while resisting a gag of disdain on her cookie. She wasn’t sure if Latham was pausing for effect or what, but there was an awkward stretch where the only noise in the cramped room was people chewing on cookies. She could feel herself beginning to sweat, and she exchanged a baffled glance with Connor.

After nearly a solid minute, Latham finally continued. “I’m sure it will come as a surprise to no one who my choice is. Mr. Rhodes, will you please step forward?”

Ava knew it. She smiled and initiated a series of claps which the others joined in on. Connor slipped past her, squeezing her hand along the way, and went to stand next to Latham with his head lowered. Why was he being so humble? It was almost cute, and definitely amusing. She had to hide a giggle behind folded fingers as she watched Latham pass along the invisible torch to her boyfriend.

“Thank you,” Connor said. His mouth was a thin, straight line as he scanned over everyone. “I’m grateful for everything this company has taught me, and all that it’s brought me.” When he said that, his eyes landed on Ava specifically, and her neck burned. Briefly, she wondered if her hair was really concealing the hickey he’d left on the side of her throat a few nights ago (she’d taken a risk picking a low-cut shirt today).

“With this change in position for me, that of course means the place of Vice President will need to be filled,” he resumed. “And after talking with Mr. Latham, we have come to a mutual conclusion about who would be the best fit.”

In her peripheral, Ava noticed Will’s face light up. He visibly tensed too, as if he was prepared to make his move to accept and shake Connor’s hand. She hoped it was him; she couldn’t think of anyone more deserving.

But then the name that came out of Connor’s mouth was not the one anyone was ready for, least of all herself. “Ms. Bekker,” Connor said, and it sounded too weird and formal for him to address her that way. She blinked dumbly for a moment, unsure why her name was being thrown into the conversation when she had nothing to do with any of this. Then the restless quiet persisted (intermingled with macarons crunching under teeth), and everyone else was staring at her, and suddenly Ava realized why he said her name.

She swallowed hard and walked up to Connor, who was looking at her like she was a queen.

* * *

Today was Thursday, so Connor was going to spend all of tomorrow switching his stuff over to Latham’s slightly bigger office. That way things would be all set up by Monday. He had always been curious to see what that cave would look like at a normal lighting level (and that was pretty much the main thing he was excited about).

As people shuffled back to their desks after the meeting, Connor pulled Ava aside by the Keruig and made them look busy by pretending to pick through the selection of coffee pods. 

“So,” he said, shooting her a sly side glance. “What do you think?”

She grinned at him. “What do I think of what?”

Connor laughed and nudged her side with his elbow. The action made his bad arm briefly rip apart in pain, and he kept his mouth closed to hide his gritted teeth.

She apparently wanted coffee, so she leaned past him to pop a K-cup in the machine. “No, Connor, I’m just... I’m at a loss for words.”

“Well, there’s ‘thank you,’” he teased.

“Oh, shush. I said that already, and I’ll say it again. Thank you.” She drummed her fingers on the Keurig and took a breath. “Now I can see why you were being so secretive. I just, well, I really wasn’t expecting it. I don’t doubt I’m ready for it, though.”

Connor checked to make sure the hallway was empty, then he planted a kiss on her temple, where a few soft strands of hair got in his way. It was the kind of kiss that was fleeting on the surface but actually lingered for a while, warm and alluring. She left those on him all the time. It didn’t have to be a hickey or love bite to stay.

“That’s exactly why you were my first thought, and the big guy agreed with me. You’re painfully intelligent and you take no shit - you have the perfect personality to be in charge.” He nuzzled her, but pulled back when he heard the rustling of someone standing up from their desk in the distance. “I’m so proud of you, Avey,” he murmured.

Ava rubbed his arm and watched the machine spit out her coffee. “I’m proud of you too, President Rhodes.”

He beamed, ignoring the throbbing in his bad shoulder. “V.P. Bekker. I love the sound of that.” After giving her one more quick embrace (and making it appear as innocent as possible since the hallway was now busier), Connor headed back to his office. 

He still had the taste of chocolate macaron leftover on his tongue, though he kind of wished he had the taste of Ava’s tongue right now. Oh well, they’d find time for that later. Where Robin used to come begging to him, Ava played much harder to get in the office. Half the time, he had to wait to press her against the elevator wall at the end of the day, or she’d take him in the backseat of her car on their lunch break (it was harder to do it in his car, because the one bad thing about Porsches was their minimal backseat space).

Still musing abstractly to himself, Connor sat down and had maybe fifteen minutes of working in peace before there was a knock on his door. “Come in,” he called.

Will entered wearing a face that looked like a gaunt mask. Immediately Connor frowned and gave his friend his full attention. “Will, buddy? Are you okay?”

“I’m...” Will trailed off and sighed, running a hand through his floppy red hair. “No, I’m not, Connor. Can I-- can I be completely honest with you about something, from one friend to another?”

“Of course,” Connor said.

Will dipped his head. He wouldn’t look at him no matter how much Connor sought eye contact. “I’m, uh... I have to say I’m a little surprised you chose Ava to be the new V.P.”

“Oh.” Connor relaxed. That was all? “Well, I guess I can see how it might’ve caught some people off-guard. But both Latham and I thought she has really proven herself the past three years. I definitely think she deserves it.”

“Yeah, okay, but” - Will threw himself down into the chair facing the desk that would soon become Ava’s - “d- did you, I don’t know, consider anyone else? At all?”

Connor didn’t think himself slow, but now he felt stupid that it took him this long to catch on. He had been so busy admiring and praising Ava at the meeting... had he maybe purposefully overlooked Will’s pleased-turned-distraught expression?

“Will...” he said slowly. “I’m sorry. You would’ve been a great fit too. But the choice has been made.”

Now that his feelings were out in the open, the other man apparently misplaced any reservations he had left. Will scowled deeply at him, leaning forward. “I have been here nearly as long as  _ you  _ have, Connor. I was here when you were promoted to V.P. almost  _ automatically  _ because of who your dad is. And now here we are again, the cycle continues. I’m left in the dust.”

Connor raised a hand. “Whoa, man, slow down. You seriously feel left in the dust? I plan to increase salaries when I take position--”

“Honestly, I don’t even care about how much I’m paid anymore. I’m comfortable with that. What I’m not comfortable with is how  _ biased  _ people are around here.” Will shook his head (or more like,  _ thrashed  _ it back and forth), and dug into his lip angrily. “Connor, we all know you and Ava fool around. Just today alone, I saw you two come together in your car, a- and get all comfy together by the coffee machine. I dunno if you two are... are dating, or what. But it does make me wonder about today. I- I mean, if Robin was still here and you were still ‘sneaking around’ with her, would you have promoted her from receptionist to V.P.?”

Connor winced, but he was hiding his fury well behind a wall of shock. He tried to keep his voice level as he said, “Will, you know as well as I do how hard a worker Ava is. And I don’t say that to diminish what you do, because you’re just as important. Though what you’re doing right now is a  _ very  _ low thing to do, and it’s hard for me to imagine her doing something like this. You have absolutely  _ no  _ right to talk down on her capabilities. If you’re trying to establish yourself as equally worthy - which is something you’ve proven time and again in the past - this isn’t the way to do it.”

Will’s eyes bore down on him, cool like ice cubes pressing into Connor’s skin. “Right,” he said. With that, he got up and walked out.

Connor stared at the empty space left behind. Never had unoccupied air been so loud and annoyingly present before. 

He stared around at the couple of cardboard boxes he’d brought back out from storage to transport his things in. He had already packed up one. He didn’t have much to his name here. He looked down at his desk and noticed the dusty outline on the upper left edge of it where a certain stapler used to be. He reached forward to wipe away the mark, but it seemed to be permanently etched into the desk. He wasn’t sure if it was the motion or the reminder that made his arm throb again.  _ (The bullet embedded into your muscle, Mr. Rhodes, and barely grazed the bone at your shoulder blade. We picked out as much shrapnel as possible, but I’m afraid there will always be some pieces left in there. We expect a full recovery of the use of your left arm, but there’s a chance you will suffer from chronic pain for the rest of your life.) _

Connor chuckled. “I took a bullet for this fucking place,” he said to no one. Then he went back to work.


	16. day one thousand two hundred & fifty-nine

They had been talking about moving in together. Or, at least, thinking about it. Connor knew it was on her mind just as much as it was on his. He saw it in her eyes whenever she walked into his place or he walked into hers, and he’d picked up on her not-so-subtle hint dropping: pushing for a trip to Ikea “just for fun,” pointing out drapes and bedspreads she liked at Target. Suddenly she always had his favorite cookie dough ice cream stocked in her freezer, and he had bought an extra set of silverware for his house because, well, one single fork wasn’t going to cut it anymore when they shared lasagna right out of the pan while watching vintage  _ The X-Files  _ reruns.

If Connor had to pinpoint exactly when it all went to shit, he couldn’t say. He could spread out and examine every detail, pin photographs and letters and email printouts up on a corkboard, but he could never narrow it down. And the worst part of it was that he  _ knew,  _ deep down in the farthest, most shadowy nooks and crannies of his soul, that Ava Bekker was not like any other woman he’d been with. She wasn’t just any other girl who darkened his bedroom doorway wearing nothing but a teasing smirk, she wasn’t just any other girl who got tangled up in his high thread count sheets, she wasn’t just any other  _ girl.  _ She was so much more than that. Connor never would have believed this could happen. He knew if he time traveled back to tell his past self that the woman whose car he just rear-ended would eventually steal his heart, the Connor in February 2017 would never,  _ ever  _ believe it.

But here he was now: helplessly,  _ hopelessly, beyond  _ in love with one Ava Lesedi Bekker, and he wasn’t sure if they would ever be able to pick up the hurdle they just stumbled on and try jumping over it again.

He sat down heavily at the kitchen island, staring at the dead, empty air around him. It had reached a point where he was so used to having her there in front of him, right on the other side of the counter, that seeing it empty once again felt so deeply wrong.

She had only been gone maybe ten minutes, so he was still reeling. When Ava was angry, she was  _ angry.  _ She twirled through him like a tornado, hurricanes storming from her eyes and fingers destroying everything they touched. Connor had to sit for a solid, weighty minute and try to remember what the fight was even about, what had started it.

_ “Connor.”  _ Her voice came back to him, clear and devastated just as he remembered it.  _ “I... I have to tell you something. I got some... some news earlier today.” _

He rested his forehead on the cool granite, sifting furiously through his brain for the memories of a mere fifteen minutes ago. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, he knew that. Hearing her say that set off all kinds of alarms in his head. She could be dying, she could be pregnant, or it might not even be about her.

It turned out to be the latter. Once he coaxed her to sit on the couch and had a preparatory comforting arm perched on her shoulders, he invited her to continue.

_ “I got a call from home,”  _ she said. She pronounced the last word like it was hollow, like it could be squashed under a pinky finger. Connor often wondered if Ava wished she could squish South Africa beneath her shoe, just grind it into the ground. 

_ “Okay... and?” _

Her face was already hidden behind trembling hands.  _ “My mother died.”  _ Connor opened his mouth, but she had answers to unasked questions.  _ “In the hospital, two days ago. She was already in a coma, a- and they couldn’t keep her stable enough to... to save her.”  _

She wasn’t crying, but that didn’t take Connor by great surprise. He said nothing, then he decided to say  _ “I’m sorry”  _ although it wasn’t something she would like hearing. Then he just held her and gifted her with one sweet kiss after another on top of her head. He had his face buried in her impossibly soft caramel waves when she muttered out something he had trouble understanding at first. He had grown to recognize the two times when her accent became nearly unrecognizable: a) when she was still groggy waking up in the morning, and b) when she reached a certain level of upset.

She had hit that level, and he knew she hated how much she was upset. Her accent was very thick now, like an undermixed milkshake, and he kept holding her and rocking her back and forth on his stiff white sofa while dry sobs mingled with incoherent English.

Then, at last, he was able to catch a snippet of what she was saying:  _ “... and I have to, I have to go back there, if I don’t...” _

Connor cut her off then.  _ “Avey, you don’t have to go back there. You know that. You know you don’t have to.” _

She sniffed and shook her head, pulling out of his grasp to meet his eyes.  _ “I h- have to, Connor,”  _ she said, stumbling around a hiccup.  _ “Dammit, I have to. I don’t have a choice. I have... I have to go and see her emaciated body, fuck, Connor. I don’t want to but I have to.” _

_ “No, you don’t. Listen to me, you... you know what going back there does to you. It hurts you. I don’t want to see you hurt again.”  _

Ava’s features hardened then, and she slipped her hands out of his.  _ “It’s not about what you want, now is it? I’m her only child, and I’ve already disappointed her so much. I wasn’t the polite little girl she tried to raise, I didn’t become an esteemed doctor, and if I didn’t become a doctor I could’ve at least, I don’t know, married at twenty-two and given her a clan of grandkids. I could’ve stayed right fucking there in Die Baai, but I didn’t, because it’s the goddamn worst there. But Con, if there’s one last thing I can do for her, I can’t let it be another disappointment. I can’t not show up to her funeral.” _

Connor gazed at her, working his jaw as he thought. Then he told her,  _ “She doesn’t owe you a damn thing, Ava. That’s just my opinion on the matter.” _

_ “Oh, of course.”  _ She stood up, turning her back to him as she pinched the bridge of her nose.  _ “That’s coming from you, the man with daddy issues at thirty-three years old. I’m sure you want to hear the same from me, right, Connor? Do you want me to tell you how you don’t owe your asshole father a damn thing? Because believe me, I have tried and tried and you still sit there and mope every year that goes by where he buys you a hundred-dollar steak or a fucking chrome-plated stapler for your birthday. What is it you want? Love? You can’t buy that!”  _

His nostrils flared and he shot up like a bullet from the couch, fingers pulled taut into fists.  _ “How can you say that to me?”  _ he snapped.  _ “I only have your best interest in mind. I want you to be happy and healthy and not slowly killing yourself with liquor and Zoloft cocktails! Fuck!”  _ Connor scraped his hands through his beard; she was staring away from him, staring at the ceiling, so he stared at the floor, at the lush carpet. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously low and he almost didn’t recognize it as himself.  _ “I thought when you care about someone, you support them. Maybe I was wrong.”  _ He sighed.  _ “Maybe all along, I cared the most about the people who I didn’t let get close to me. Because at least then they were spared.” _

_ “It’s always about you,”  _ she growled. She whirled back to face him, only to shoot tear-streaked hazel daggers at him.  _ “I’m going to my mother’s funeral because that’s what I think is best right now. But first I’m leaving and you better not call me.”  _ Before he could blink, all that remained was lilac perfume in the air and the slam of the front door ringing in his ears.

For some reason, he had a feeling it all went to shit gradually, trickling down into today, dirty water dripping and rotting the wooden foundation of their relationship. Connor wanted to rebuild it with something stronger next time, something water and termites couldn’t get into.

* * *

Ava had thought she was good at ending things, but maybe it was just that she did it so often she got used to it.

She sat on her bed with her laptop often in front of her, a ticket purchase confirmation for her flight to South Africa on the screen. She stared at it another moment, then slammed the device shut and gently kicked it away from her until it was at the foot of the bed, shunned like something ugly she didn’t want to be reminded of.

Her bed still reeked of him. It wasn’t only her sheets that were stained with minty cologne, though; her mind was all marked up too, her brain tie-dyed in all the colors of Connor Rhodes. She thought she was looking back on their relationship while wearing rose-tinted glasses, laying limp as a ragdoll in her bed. But then she took the glasses off and things still looked perfectly the same.

A pained whine scraped its way up her raw throat. Ava rolled out of bed, set aside the stupid laptop, and threw off the covers. She was too lazy to deal with washing and air-drying the top comforter, so she just took off the sheets and threw them in the washing machine with an overfilled cup of strongly scented detergent for good measure.

She tried to watch TV while the sheets were in the wash, but it seemed the only shows on were all the things they watched:  _ 90 Day, X-Files, Grey’s.  _ She laid on the bare mattress and his essence was still in the air. Then she heard the machine’s  _ ding  _ saying the cycle was over, and she went and threw the sheets in the dryer. Then she sat on top of the dryer, back slouched against the wall, and closed her eyes. Sometimes if she just existed without doing much else, the planet stopped rotating for a minute and she could catch up.

Ava stayed in her blissful stupor until the dryer told her it was done. She put the clean sheets back on the bed and nestled into them immediately with sweaty hair and in jean shorts and a purple cami. She could change into pajamas, it wasn’t like she was going anywhere else today. But she didn’t feel like it.

When she was awoken hours later by her phone trilling into her ear, she only grunted. Of course she’d left the stupid thing right under the pillow. She slithered an arm beneath her head to grab it, and after making sure the caller wasn’t  _ him  _ or the ghost of her mother, she lazily hit the accept button.

“Hullo,” she muttered. She almost spoke in the wrong language for a moment there, but ended up using the right one.

“Ava? It’s Nat.” 

“Mmm... hey. What’s up?”

There was a sigh. “Okay, you definitely don’t sound good. I’ll be over in fifteen.” 

Then the call ended, and Ava realized she had no choice but to get up and brush her hair and try not to look on the outside the way she felt on the inside. It took her ten more minutes to even think about getting up, however, so it was a good thing Natalie lived on the other side of town. Ava decided ahead of time to not tell Nat about her mother. She could only focus on moping about one thing at a time. Nat would be able to tell right away what this was about, anyway.

There was a light but insistent knock on her door however many minutes later. Ava had learned that the way a person knocked often mirrored their personality; Nat was gentle but dead set in her ways, Connor was firm but cautious, the pizza delivery man was bored and impatient.

She opened the door and found one Natalie Manning standing before her holding a six pack of... tangerine La Croix, of all things. Ick. But it would have to suffice.

“Well,” Ava said upon seeing her, “Since that’s what you brought, I’m glad I already have ice cream in the freezer.” She turned toward the fridge and left the door open, wordlessly inviting her friend inside.

Natalie sighed. She sighed a lot. She walked in and shut the door behind her, joining Ava in the small kitchen and setting the drinks on the counter. She took a seat on one of the stools there while Ava hung her head and gazed into the freezer.

She gingerly took out the cookie dough ice cream and slammed it onto the counter next to her least favorite coping replacement. “It’s his stupid gross favorite flavor, though,” Ava grumbled, taking two spoons out of the drawer. 

She felt the laser-like concerned eyes burning holes into her. Ava kept looking down while she scraped a hefty spoonful off the top, then shoved it into her mouth. She hated being a cliche, but  _ damn  _ was this ice cream good.

“Ava, sweetie. How are you? Really.” Natalie searched her inexpressive face. “Are things... over?”

Ava didn’t answer directly. “I don’t get it. How did you take it so well when it went bad with Phillip?”

Natalie shrugged one shoulder and stuck a bite of ice cream in her mouth. “I don’t know... it wasn’t as easy as I might’ve made it seem. It’s crazy to think we would’ve been married now if things had worked out... But I think what helped me break off the engagement was how much of an asshole he really was.” She paused. “And Connor is--”

“-- an asshole,” Ava filled in the blank. She winced, too - hearing his name was like sandpaper on her bare eardrums. “Insensitive,” she went on. “Self-absorbed, overprotective, annoying.” She stopped and grinned darkly at Nat. “Shall I go on?”

“You don’t really think that,” Nat said. 

“Oh yes I do.”

“No, you don’t. I’ve known you for two and a half years, Ava. I can tell from the way you’re talking, it’s not coming from your heart. It’s half-hearted.” Nat reached for another scoop of ice cream, but Ava tugged the carton closer to herself.

“I’ve been around him for  _ three  _ and a half years and I thought I knew him, and he thought he knew me.” For the millionth time, Ava shook her head as if the movement would chase away her thoughts. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”

Surprisingly, Nat caved. Sometimes she could be as stubborn as Ava, so this was a blessing. “Okay. Real or fictional gossip?”

“Real. We already texted about the dumb shit on  _ 90 Day.” _

Nat nodded, thought for a moment, then said, “So, I heard your coworker Will apparently has a crush on me.”

Ava couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips. She remembered when He Who Shall Not Be Named told her how much the redhead drooled over her friend. “He definitely does. I can confirm.”

“I know it’s true, because it was Will himself who told me.”

Ava almost choked on a piece of cookie dough. She swallowed and did a double take at her companion.  _ “What?  _ And what did you say to him?”

“I told him I don’t feel the same way. And he said okay, and we left it at that.” Ava offered the entire ice cream container to Nat, who gladly received it.

“Wow,” she breathed. “Talk about awkward.”

Nat didn’t seem too torn up though. “I’m still recovering a little after Phillip. I just need a break from men.”

Ava hummed in agreement and scooted back to rest her head on the counter. “I need to date a woman again. I forget what it’s like to kiss someone without a beard.”

They both laughed. It was a fun night, and Nat stayed until late into the night because it was a Saturday and it didn’t matter. By the time she left close to midnight, Ava’s chest was sore from guffawing like a seal all night. But as soon as her apartment was silent and empty again, she felt the darkness from the unoccupied rooms leak into her warm, well-lit kitchen. Ava shuddered. She flipped the lights off in the kitchen and almost sprinted into her bedroom, shutting the door firmly. 

She sleepwalked into a t-shirt and a pair of sporty leggings she bought back when she’d convinced herself she would start going to the gym (she didn’t). Then she stretched out on the bed and pretended she didn’t still smell a tiny amount of relentless high-end cologne. She wondered if he had sent Natalie to her. There were hints dropped, but. But. Oh well. For now, Ava fell asleep.


	17. day one thousand two hundred & eighty-three

It took nearly a month after the break-up for Connor to go to a bar, waste a few hours moping over whiskey on the rocks, and take a random girl home. He made sure it was someone who didn’t look remotely like Ava: no dirty blondes, no light brown eyes. That way he wouldn’t subconsciously pretend they were her. At least it was easy to find someone who didn’t sound like Ava. The girl he picked to spend his night with had a grating voice. By the next morning, she had grated him into an exhausted pulp. He felt sick with himself.

Three days later on an overcast Tuesday, Connor sat in the corner of a Starbucks while summer storm clouds rolled in outside the windows. He sipped his coffee and winced at the bitterness. He had been avoiding Maggie’s cafe lately since Ava always seemed to be there now. Normally he would be annoyed because, well, that was _ his _place first, but the least he could do was let Ava have Maggie’s. So now here he was in Seattle’s trendiest, choking down plain blonde roast because he was too overwhelmed by all the sweet and sugary menu options. He had considered a vanilla bean frappuccino, but when he saw a gaggle of giggling teenage girls walk away with the whipped cream-topped concoctions in hand, he thought better. Besides, he doubted there was even a trace of coffee in those things. Ava would gag.

No, Ava would not gag. Ava would not gag because Connor was not supposed to think about her anymore. At least not on “unprofessional” terms, he reminded himself as he stared at an email from She Who Must Not Be Named.

_Connor,_

_Please see attached for meeting notes._

_Ava_

No regards, no sincerely, no thanks. Connor scrolled farther down on his laptop, down to the old emails that were archives of better times. He clicked on one from May and grinned behind the hand he was using to prop up his heavy head.

_Dearest Connor,_

_I have tried my hardest but I can’t seem to replicate the purple prose you have repeatedly sent me today. Believe me, it’s cute, but sometimes I have to stare at all your excessive adjectives and adoration for way too long in order to find the actual purpose of the email. You’re so annoying, Mr. President, but I like annoying._

_Yours,_

_Ava_

_(P.S. Oh! I almost forgot, the meeting notes are attached.)_

_(P.P.S. It’s your fault I forgot, by the way. You’re too distracting. Do you really miss staring at me through your office window that much?)_

And Connor’s rather informal response to that was:

_Whenever someone else annoys us, we should punch a hole in the wall between our offices until we have a window to stare at each other through again. But then again, you would invade my space all the time if we did that._

_(P.S. Not that I’d mind.)_

Connor vaguely remembered carrying on the rest of that conversation in person. But now, he just sighed and scrolled back to the more recent emails and started replying to them. He knew the meeting notes from Ava were the most important to look at right now, but he couldn’t be bothered to. Just seeing her name on his screen did weird things to him, made him want to splash his scalding hot coffee right in his fucking eyes.

Right on schedule, there was the telltale twinge in his bad arm again. He rolled his shoulder and let the arm drop limply to his side as he sat. It was like the damn shrapnel trapped in there knew exactly when to act up and remind him of his physical therapy appointment later today. Connor always dreaded going to P.T. because he was still pretty adamant about not needing it. In fact, he had refused it when the doctors originally recommended it last November, but then his arm started to get all stiff like it was made of wood, so he caved. It was the dumbest shit ever - “Move your arm in circles clockwise... great! Okay, now move your arm in circles _ counter_clockwise!” - but he wanted to believe it was working. It was probably some placebo effect shit, though. They would do better to just feed him a plain sugar pill and tell him it would magically restore his left arm to its full range of motion. He had thought Ava was his endgame; Connor could believe almost anything these days, no matter how fake.

No. Wait. No. He mentally gave himself a left hook again (or, no, right hook since his left arm was useless as a pool noodle now). No thinking about her that way. No wondering how her visit to South Africa went, no wondering if she was okay. It was safe to assume she wasn’t one hundred percent if the sporadic and undetailed updates from Natalie offered him anything.

When Connor wandered into the office a few hours later after his appointment, it was quiet. The office being quiet didn’t mean much to him anymore however, not since the day a sleepy Wednesday was transformed into a nightmare. He couldn’t help being on edge even after newly reinforced security measures.

The door to the office that used to be his was firmly closed, the way he always used to keep it. The blinds were drawn too, making it impossible to catch even a sliver of her. Nobody said anything as Connor walked past and rounded the corner at the cubicle of the new assistant to the V.P., Elsa Curry. Will didn’t even raise his head this time, which he was starting to do again sometimes. Things were still a bit off between him and Connor, but their friendship was gradually rebuilding itself again. Connor felt like he was reassembling a Jenga tower one-handed with a blindfold on, what with all the other shit he had going on, but at least they were trying.

Connor stepped into the office he still viewed as Latham’s and shut the door softly behind him. He didn’t like this space as much; its walls were solid rather than glass and it really closed him off from everything else. Some days that was nice, but not every day. Connor had tried to make the room his own, add more lights and keep the shades up, make it seem less like a cave. But it still felt dark.

He settled into his seat, checking the time. He had a conference call in a little under ten minutes, but it was the worst kind: video chat. He hated having to see his face, to see other people’s faces, and to actually pay attention. He couldn’t clip his toenails or watch _ The Office _on mute with closed captions like he used to do during conference calls on the normal phone at home. What happened to simplicity? Why did they have to see each other?

So Connor twiddled his thumbs until it was three o’clock. The call came in and he accepted it, and after awkward greetings, Connor sneaked an unwanted glance at his slightly pixelated reflection in the lower corner of the laptop screen. 

He couldn’t remember what he had looked like before he loved her, but he knew he must’ve looked a hell of a lot worse. More hardened, more full of himself. But now that he had loved her and was forced to unlove her, he looked deathly ill. Pallid, like a ghost. Connor shifted his gaze away from himself and didn’t look again.

“Okay, everyone, shall we get started?” he said, smiling.

* * *

Maggie’s was busy as usual, and it was the kind of busy that made Ava feel like she was drowning in people. She kept to herself at a small two-person booth in the corner of the cafe. Instead of a person filling the seat across from her, she had her feet propped up there next to her bag. She gazed out the window and watched cars pass by on the street with a chorus of honks and engine growls. Then she lifted her third oversized mug of hot cocoa to her lips and took a long drink. It was August and close to eighty degrees outside, and maybe she was crazy, but right now she wanted nothing more than warm liquid comfort to fill her belly. Besides, Maggie made hot chocolate just right: not too sweet, with notes of bitter cocoa rather than gallons of sugar.

Ava wiped off flecks of whipped cream from her upper lip and continued looking out the window. The cafe was set on a corner where one busy street intersected with a slightly less busy street. Every now and then a person or small group would hustle past, but for the most part it was just Ava, the window, the empty sidewalk, and the cars beyond it.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough of those hot chocolates?”

Ava startled, head whipping to her left. Maggie was standing there, one hand on her hip as she dusted some flour off her apron. She chuckled grimly and moved her feet so the cafe owner could take the seat facing her. “Well, you’re the one profiting off my gradual descent into diabetes, so shouldn’t you be asking if I want a fourth?”

Maggie laughed. “Or at least order a frozen hot chocolate. It’s eighty-one degrees out there, honey. I don’t know how you’re not burning up.”

Ava shrugged, eyes shifting again to the city bustle outside. “The air conditioning in here helps,” she said.

The older woman settled back in the booth, the aged seat creaking like it wanted to be part of their conversation. “So tell me, where’s Connor been? Haven’t seen your hubby ‘round here in a while.”

Something with sharp teeth bit down hard into Ava’s gut. She chewed the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood instead of sweet chocolate she didn’t deserve. In an instant, she was shamefully reminded of the hours she spent last night scrolling through her old texts to and from him. Hours and hours laying on her lonely bed in the dark, reading the novel they’d unintentionally penned over fourteen months together.

“Oh, he’s, uh... we broke up a month ago.” Ava shoved her drink in her face again while Maggie absorbed the news. Then she added, “I think it’s safe to assume he’s been avoiding this place since I’m always here.”

Her companion frowned and reached across the small table to give Ava’s hand a squeeze. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Ava. I really am. I hope it wasn’t too bitter.”

Ava reflected her expression. “It was... kind of a big fight. Over my mother.”

Maggie nodded, and Ava was relieved she didn’t probe for any more details; the last thing she needed right now was to explain it all to yet another pair of curious ears and sympathetic eyes. Instead the baker said, “All I will say is, I’ve never seen that man be so sweet about anybody more than he was for you. I remember the past couple of your birthdays when he would come in to pick up a box of macarons. He’d gush about the other things he had planned for you, and always told me to make sure there weren’t any of the chocolate peanut butter ones in there because you disliked those.”

Ava smiled weakly, saying nothing. She was surprised this wasn’t making her feel worse.

“I’ll let you be, but there’s one more thing I want to tell you, dear.” Maggie held Ava’s gaze, her face growing more somber by the minute, and again the scraping jaws took ahold of Ava’s stomach.

She set down her drink, which was almost finished by now, and nodded. “What is it?” she prompted.

Maggie heaved a long, steady sigh, and only then did Ava pick up the audible raspiness rattling through her lungs. “I’m... I’m afraid I’m not doing too well health-wise.”

Ava was glad she wasn’t holding the mug anymore, because it definitely would’ve shattered on the ground. “What is it?” she repeated in a horrified whisper. _ Not again, _ she pleaded to no one but herself. _ Not again. _

“Breast cancer,” Maggie told her. “Stage three. I’ve already gone in for a round of chemo but right now the outlook isn’t great. I just... well, I just thought I should let you know in case you start less of me around here.” She broke eye contact, dark eyes bouncing among all the filled tables in the cafe. “It’s a shame, because I don’t have anyone to take over operations in my place when the time comes. None of my current employees are interested.”

No sooner had she gotten up than Ava had launched herself into an embrace with her. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered into Maggie’s shoulder. It smelled of sweet strawberry macarons, the batch for the day. (Ava took a box with her despite still having another unfinished box at home.)

Ava walked back across the street to work, cutting across the sunbaked parking lot. She plastered on the blandest expression possible because she couldn’t display the way she was crumbling like a stale cookie inside. She went to her office and shut the door heavily, dumping her bag in the lower drawer of her desk and sitting down. Every time she was in here, she thought of him, and what used to be a pleasant reminder was now only maddening. This used to be the chair he sat in, this used to be his desk, this used to be the door and the walls he spent hours staring at, and Ava wondered if it was somehow worse that he was the one person she truly cared about who wasn’t dead. Better to make the loss complete, right?

Her visit to Port Elizabeth had been far more brief this time around. One day to go through her childhood home and shove her mother’s dusty life into boxes to be consumed by more dust. One day to attend the funeral and sit there with dry eyes and decide not to speak which only attracted more criticism. One day for rebound sex with Zoe which she already regretted as it was happening, especially when Zoe waited until after to tell Ava she just cheated on her girlfriend to be with her. Ava saved all her tears for the tight confines of the airplane bathroom on the way back.

After a few hours, Connor returned from wherever he had been that wasn’t Maggie’s. Ava saw a split second of him, just a flash through the tiny window in (his) her door. His eyes were looking in her direction but not at her; he didn’t see her. She waited a minute until she was positive he was in his office, then walked over to the wall they shared and leaned on it. She had the blinds drawn, so she could be as pathetic as she wanted.

She leaned on the wall then slid slowly down it, one hand pressed on the cool off-white surface all the while. She wanted to give a little knock like they used to do before last month. They would only ever exchange three knocks at a time, filling in for three words they still had yet to say, words Ava had been planning to say at some point soon but she never found the right time. So, instead, they had contained what they felt in knocks, gentle and light, because the way a person knocked told a lot about the way they were feeling in that moment.

Ava pressed harder against the wall, feeling her veins throb at her temples. She wanted to cook with him again, to feel the scrape of his beard on her skin as they kissed late at night, to send emails to him that were more than a sentence long and littered with “dearest” and “sincerely.”

The best she could do for now was feel him through the wall.


	18. day one thousand four hundred & thirty-six

It was sleeting so heavily outside that Ava truly believed she was breathing in more solid ice than air. This was one aspect of Chicago she would never, ever get used to. She sprinted across the parking lot, grateful she wore flats today and was bundled up in her warmest coat and scarf. Now if only she had a hard hat for protective measures against the ruthless icy pellets.

She made it to the building without incident, frantically swiping her ID card at the door. This was just one of the many new security measures installed after the Todd Jenkins incident; the majority of the time when she saw them, Ava thought of the night she spent sniffling next to Connor’s hospital bed and was grateful for the extra protection. But right now, she really, really hated it. Especially since her card was covered in condensation from her soaked gloves and it took three times to scan correctly.

“For fuck’s sake,” she grumbled when it finally granted her access and she stumbled in. It literally felt like the weather pushed her inside and slammed the door on her ass, saying  _ “Get in, and stay in!”  _ Didn’t have to tell her twice.

With ice flakes tangled in her hair, she marched up to the elevators and squeezed onto one of them right as the doors were about to close. She could feel other people’s annoyance in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife, but she didn’t care. She was already running late as it was.

Up on the twelfth floor, a few people were talking loudly on their phones. The noise crawled in through her ears and pounded at her brain. Of all the possible days, today had to be a chaotic one. Of course. She paused at Elsa’s desk to drop off some papers before she could take blessed refuge in her office.

“Hey, Elsa,” Ava said as she dug through her bag for the files. “Here’s the data you need for the project. I would’ve just emailed it to you but I’m still of the mindset that if you need to stare at something for hours on end, it’s better to do it on paper.” At last she located the thick stack and dropped it on the younger woman’s desk.

“Thank you,” Elsa replied. Then she abruptly turned back to her computer and began her typical feverish typing. Ava pursed her lips, shooting one last look at the cramped desk she used to call hers before turning to her office. Just like Ava had for three years, Elsa had minimal decor or photos pinned up; only a grainy family portrait, a few pictures of her cat, and a lesbian pride flag sticker stuck to the corner of her computer monitor. 

Ava sighed as she relieved her sore shoulder from the weight of her bag. She had been trying to connect with her assistant for several months now with no such luck. She had picked up on the blonde’s headstrong nature when interacting with others; she’d noticed it when Connor asked her to sit in on the interview. But she was always so shy with Ava personally, like a turtle tucking into its shell. It seemed quite the opposite of the way Ava had been with Connor when she was in Elsa’s position nearly four years ago.

After a few minutes, Ava caved in to her aching need for coffee and went over to the Keurig. She hesitated when she saw Crockett there, then relaxed when she realized he was just finishing up. She approached the little table as he swiped his steaming mug from the machine. But, of course, he couldn’t just grunt and walk by like most other men.

“Hello there, Ava,” he rumbled. He dumped two distinct dashes of sugar into his coffee and swirled a wooden stirrer through it. “Some weather today, hm?”

She nodded, popping a coffee pod in and hitting the brew button. “I nearly froze into an icicle out there,” she replied, deciding to throw him a bone.

Crockett brought his cup to his lips and sipped. It was always annoying the way he shamelessly slurped. “Something else bothering you?”

Oh, yes. Always. Not that he needed to know, though, so Ava kept it superficial. “I can’t seem to see eye to eye with Elsa,” she admitted in as casual a tone as possible. “She’s my assistant but just because I’m her boss doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“Or even something more. Y’know, like you and Connor.”

Ava pressed her knuckles into the table and refused to take in her ex’s shit-eating smirk. 

“Oh, come on. Was only a joke.” There was another thunderous series of sips, then Crockett asked, “So you don’t know why she acts all weird with you?”

Ava shook her head and stared at the grumbling Keurig.

An expression of vague interest - the closest Crockett could ever look to surprised - flickered over his face. Then he said, “Wow. Have to say I’m surprised.” Another sip. “I’m almost positive she’s been crushin’ on you since the day she was hired.”

_ “Almost  _ positive?” Ava finally spared him a glance with narrowed eyes and a tilted head. She hid her amazement behind a facetious facade. “Really seems like everyone in this office is head over heels for me.”

Crockett chuckled. “Just look for the blush, sweaty hands, and stammer next time ‘round. You’ll see it.” He leaned past her to pick up one of the stacked mugs. “By th’ way, you might want this.” He stuck the cup beneath the Keurig’s spout just in time to catch the coffee starting to pour out. Ava blinked dumbly; she hadn’t even noticed she forgot to put something there.

She opened her mouth again, but Crockett was already walking off. He jerked his head at someone over her shoulder as he left. Before Ava could turn to see who it was, Connor was already next to her. “Hey,” her other ex said softly, eyes darting from the pouring coffee to her face. “How was your weekend?”

Ava shrugged. “Fine. Yours?”

She knew it was stupid, the way she was acting around him. But a sick part of her liked watching him grasp at empty air, liked leaning just out of his reach. It helped her deny the undeniable.

“It was alright. I, uh...” He paused, shifting his weight. “I heard about Maggie.”

She blew on the fresh black coffee and waited a moment before risking a mouth burn; luckily it wasn’t piping hot. Her entire body stiffened at the mention of the cafe owner they had both befriended. It was January now, and it looked like Maggie would be in hospice before the end of the year.

“Oh,” she breathed, staring at her drink. “It’s... it’s, uh... really devastating.”

He nodded. He wasn’t reaching to make himself his own cup of coffee, which told her he came over here exclusively to speak with her. Either that or he was planning on taking an early lunch soon. “Yeah, she... told me you’ve known since last August. I was wondering why I haven’t seen as much of her.”

Ava couldn’t resist an eyeroll. “She’s been wondering where you’ve been too. I’ve seen all those Starbucks cups you come in with.”

That appeared to trip him up. Connor opened his mouth, then shut it again. After some kind of mental struggle, he said, “Um, anyway... listen, Avey-- I mean,  _ Ava.” _ He looked like he wanted to swallow his tongue whole, and she couldn’t blame him. Hearing his name for her was like a solid kick to the stomach.

“What?” she mumbled into her coffee.

“You placed that order with the printer a couple weeks ago, right?” At her nod, he went on, “Because they said there’s an issue that has to be resolved in person. The email accidentally went to me for some reason.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “There’s a  _ forward  _ button for a reason, Connor.”

His eyebrows slanted downward towards wide blue eyes. “I’m just telling you, they want it to be fixed today because there’s a bunch of other orders backed up because of this. I wanted to offer to drive you there.”

Ava thought for a second, considering sending Elsa on the mission instead. Her assistant was the only other person who would have an idea of how to remedy the issue. But then she remembered the current weather situation and bit back a groan. She couldn’t willfully drop someone else onto that chaotic vehicle skating rink without feeling guilty about it. So instead she crookedly aimed for Connor’s jugular. “So you think I’m incapable of driving myself in snowy weather? I’ve lived here long enough to have experience.”

“I just--” Connor exhaled heavily and crossed his arms over his middle. “I just... I want to make sure you’re okay going out there. I- I’d rather put myself at risk too than have you at risk all alone.”

Ava said nothing, only watching as he jingled his car keys hopefully in the palm of his hand. This sure was a strange looking olive branch. Still, she couldn’t deny the validity of it, and the way it made her heart thaw a bit.

“Thank you,” she told him. “I appreciate it.”

* * *

In just a few hours, the weather had managed to get worse. Connor shuddered, screwing up his eyes against the icy blast, and peeked over at Ava; her scarf was covering the entirety of her face save for her eyes, which didn’t matter because they were both blinded anyway.

By the time Connor very cautiously guided the Porsche onto the road, they had only just caught their breath from the jog through solid sleet to get from building to car. The number of cars accompanying them on the streets was minimal, and nobody dared to go over ten miles per hour. Every inch of Chicago was painted in white, sprawling beyond the windows of the coupe and wrapping them in an unwelcome freezing embrace.

With the defroster on full blast and his instincts screaming in his head to stop and pull over, Connor could barely hear himself think. His hands were fixed firmly on the wheel and he didn’t trust himself to lift a finger from it, let alone an entire hand. He wanted to check in on his likely equally alarmed passenger, but he wasn’t about to remove his eyes from the road ahead either. So instead he grunted, “Well, this is fun.”

There was a sigh from his right, and the edge of his vision captured her shift her position. “I said you didn’t have to do this. I would’ve been fine.”

Connor’s eyes darted to the digital speedometer and in less than a second were back on the road. He wasn’t even pushing eight miles currently and even  _ that  _ felt too fast. Somewhere ahead in the blizzard, brake lights flashed, and Connor completely eased off the gas so that he wasn’t touching either pedal, just drifting.

“Ava, you’d be crazy to go out alone in this.”

“Commit me to an asylum, then. And check yourself in too since you insisted on coming along.” She paused as the car quaked over a pothole. Connor winced hard; he would’ve avoided it if he had seen the damn thing, but these weren’t exactly the best conditions to swerve in, anyway. Next to him Ava resumed her berating, but there was a strain behind her words that told him she didn’t fully mean it. “Now here we are in your one hundred and twenty thousand-dollar rollerskate hoping not to get pummeled. Fat chance we won’t.” She leaned forward to turn the heat down a tick, and its blowing noise lessened slightly.

Connor squinted as he tried to tell what the guy in front of them was doing. “You don’t exactly drive a 4x4 truck with snow tires either,” he pointed out. It was difficult to imagine himself maneuvering one of those things, let alone her. The image of Ava perched in the driver’s seat of an enormous pickup equipped with a plow was projected in his mind, and he couldn’t resist the snort that escaped his nose. For that he received a scowl.

They stayed in silence for a little while with only intermittent GPS instructions to interrupt it. Every time it told him to make a turn, Connor hoped he wasn’t mistakenly turning too soon into a building. He had already gone lawless and joined other drivers in running red lights since there was barely a soul out here.

“Says we should be there in five,” Ava finally said, and Connor breathed a sigh of relief. What normally would’ve been a twenty minute trip had taken nearly double that.

“Good,” he said. “Hey, how about you turn the radio on, maybe? Driving without music makes me nervous.”

She chuckled and did as he asked, turning the knob to a more tolerable volume for their situation. “Yeah, I remember.” There was a pause during which they both gulped, then she went on quickly, “I’m surprised you’ve gone all this time without it.”

He was surprised too, but didn’t voice that. Instead he listened to the meaningless pop music gushing out the car’s speakers. Good thing he had satellite radio, because there was a strong chance the normal radio wouldn’t work well at the moment. 

They were approaching another intersection and Connor’s tie was nearly choking him to death. He really should’ve taken it off before they left. Confident that there was no one else around them in the misty haze, he continued drifting along while swiftly swiping a hand upward to tug his tie away from his neck. Then in the split second before he could return his hand to the wheel, a dark blur tore viciously through the screen of sleet to the right. Connor’s heart leapt into his throat, eyes widening in horror as he realized there was no way to avoid the collision. The other car, helplessly out of control, careened through the intersection and slammed into the passenger side of the Porsche.

Connor’s throat was already raw from screaming. He couldn’t hear himself but he could feel the shape of Ava’s name on his tongue, over and over again.  _ Ava. Ava. Ava. _

He knew pressing the brakes was a bad idea on ice, but he panicked and did it anyway, grasping the wheel and over-correcting as if there was any way to tell which direction was up or down in the snowstorm. He barely registered the squeeze of a clammy hand on his forearm, yanking his hand away from the steering wheel, and then they were upside down, right side up, upside down again, and Connor definitely didn’t know if the sky was above them or under their feet now.

It felt like forever before he was ready to open his eyes and survey the aftermath. The first sense that returned to him was hearing. He was still numb to everything else but his radio, which was cheerfully albeit weakly playing the final chorus of “Call Me Maybe.” He really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to hear Carly Rae Jepsen right now, but he didn’t have the mind to reach out and shut it off.

Next he dragged his gaze away from the dashboard, which was coated in a fine layer of white dust from the airbags, to the horrendous mess of bitter powder, shattered glass, and twisted metal beside him. In a flash, he jerked his seat all the way back to free himself from the now partially-deflated airbag. Pain roared up his bad arm, worse than usual, and there was probably something wrong. Connor felt bile rise in his throat but he swallowed it back down. He couldn’t care less about himself right now. He could still move all four of his limbs and he didn’t hit his head, so he was not the priority. For a moment he tried to kick out his door, but it wouldn’t budge. They were trapped in here.

Without thinking, he unbuckled his seatbelt, which luckily wasn’t stuck, and scooted over the console to take in the damage. A quick glance outside told him the car wasn’t on its roof anymore, because the buildings weren’t dangling from the sky. So they weren’t suspended or anything. Good.

The good things ended there, however. The obliterated front end of the car that hit them was in his view through the splintered passenger window. It was another small car, a sedan, at least - if it had been anything bigger they would be in much worse shape. 

Ava looked like she had fallen into the middle of a scene from a disaster movie. Blood trickled from a gash on her head, and Connor could see the beginnings of a nasty bruise on her chest from the seatbelt. Something about her right leg looked off as well, something he didn’t look forward to finding out. He used his better arm to wipe the airbag dust off her face and clothes gingerly. She was staring ahead, dazed but alive - a fleeting touch to the side of her throat gave him a solid, rapid pulse.

It was only when he pushed some hair off her forehead that she snapped out of her stupor. She jerked her head towards him, cringed, then resumed looking around with those big hazel eyes. “Of course the jackass had to hit my side of the car,” she complained, and Connor couldn’t help the smile that stretched his cheeks. She was still herself.

“Of course he had to hit us, period.” He aimed another look outside and noticed the driver of the other car stumble out of his wreckage, phone pressed to his ear.

Some blood dripped off her face and landed on the car seat, and she frowned sheepishly at him. “Sorry. That stain might be difficult to get out.”

“I imagine all of this damage will be difficult to undo.”

Ava scanned over the bent car still closing them in, then stared at him seriously. “Really. I’m so sorry about your car, Connor. I know this one had some custom work and--”

“Avey.” She stopped when he said that, and he was ever so shameless about it. “I don’t give a shit about the car. All I care about is that you’re alive and okay.”

She was pinned to her seat, but he read the look in her eyes and surged forward to meet her parted lips. Right as they separated and she nuzzled his shoulder, Connor heard the first of the emergency sirens. They weren’t totally alone out here.

Then to his shock, Ava started laughing. They were bleeding and bruised and she was laughing. He pulled back and asked “What?” in amazement.

“It’s just... this is how we met.” Ava lifted an arm and waved it around them. “Car accidents seem to be our thing. And I- I don’t know if I ever told you this, but ‘Call Me Maybe’ was also playing that day when you rear-ended me.” She reached up to flick some powder off his hair. “You know the part where she says ‘Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad’? I never understood what that meant until I met you.”

Connor had been high off of love before, but mixing it with adrenaline was dangerous. He leaned back in and hugged her tight and didn’t let go until hours later at the hospital.


	19. day one thousand six hundred & seventy-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warning: there is some minor description of sexual assault, nothing explicit at all, but it is there. to avoid it, skip the part that begins with "Ava sat there for an hour" and start reading again at "Connor sat there and listened."

Their relationship had its pattern of bumps and smooth patches. Of course, to keep with that pattern, Ava told him back in January, _ “I’m not ready yet. But I know it’s you, I know you’re the one. Just wait for me, please.” _She was sitting on a cot in the corner of the overcrowded waiting room at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center, a place Connor hoped they wouldn’t have to continue frequenting in the future.

Connor had settled down next to her when she said that. The paper-thin mattress was hard and lumpy, the metal bars of the cot’s structure beneath poking through. It reminded him of a certain sofa bed in a hotel room all those years ago. And the waiting room was chaos around them, swimming with people crying and screaming and hurting, but Ava was so quiet and beautiful sitting next to him that he couldn’t bother to notice anyone else.

_ “Okay,” _he said. He wasn’t one to rush things anymore. It never worked out well anyway. So he held her hand on top of her thigh and they stared at each other: him with a dead left arm where a large chunk of glass had embedded in the crash, exhaustion leaking out of his bones, and her with a temporary gauze pad taped over a head wound that needed stitches, a splint on her fucked-up leg.

The first time they kissed after the accident was when he pulled up outside her apartment building in March. He watched her take careful steps with a recently healed leg and felt like he had known her his entire life despite only having her in his life for four long years. He watched her halt at the curb, jaw on the sidewalk. Then she’d swung open the passenger door, got in, and exclaimed, _ “You, Connor Patrick Rhodes, bought a car that’s not a Porsche?” _

He smiled at her. _ “Well, I seem to have a bad habit of wrecking those. And you were right. Toyota Corollas are super reliable. And there’s the great gas mileage.” _ Then he scratched behind his head as a blush warmed his neck. _ “And... well, the backseat is a bit bigger than it was in my 911.” _

Ava leaned over the console and kissed him hard, her tongue seeking access past his teeth, which he granted. Damn, he was glad the car was in park or he would’ve drifted right on down the road in neutral. He felt like a teenager with her in his bland starter car (though he _ had _ponied up for the fanciest trim level, because he couldn’t go without heated leather seats). She kissed him and kissed him and it was only when he reminded her of his surprise for her that she paused for the moment.

A week before that, Connor had sat down to dinner with his father, an unusual occasion considering it wasn’t his birthday. Over hundred-dollar steak and room temp whiskey, Connor told Dr. Cornelius Rhodes that he was quitting the company. Then he thought he would have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him, because the news slipped out right as his dad was swallowing a large bite of potatoes.

Once Cornelius recovered, Connor pushed onward with his speech because he knew if he put it on hold any longer he would be too big of a coward to follow through with it. _ “I’m capable enough to be President, but I’m not happy enough to do it. And I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. I- I ended up becoming a person that I never wanted to be. I don’t want to sell things to make a profit, I want to sell things to make people genuinely happy.” _

Cornelius only shook his head in what Connor perceived to be bemused awe. _ “So what the hell are you gonna do, huh? Start over your career at thirty years old?” _

_ “Thirty-four. And I’m taking over a cafe.” _ Connor pulled out the deed to the business that had been signed over to him earlier that day. _ “Maggie’s Macarons, over on Elizabeth Street. You should stop by sometime, the lemon ones are to die for.” _

So when Connor stopped the little blue car in front of Maggie’s the following week, a similar bemused expression flickered over Ava’s features. _“Oh. Maggie’s for date night? I didn’t think she was open this_ _late.”_

_ “She’s not,” _ he said. He killed the engine, hopped out, and went over to hold open her door. They stepped up to the well-loved old facade which Connor planned to reface so it looked as brand new as it did his first day at Dolen Rhodes, the day he went over to Maggie’s for his first ever vanilla latte. They stood and looked over the chipped silver letters in the large windowpane which would soon be repainted. Then Connor took the keys out of the pocket and their jingle overlapped with Ava’s gasp. He grinned at her as the front door fell open, and at last added, _ “But I am.” _

Now it was early fall and rusty leaves were already fluttering down into the street outside. It was quiet in the cafe just after the lunch rush, and Connor was leisurely baking batch after batch of macarons. He finished preparing a cappuccino for a customer, rang them out, then went in the back just in time to catch the oven timer going off. He pulled the cookies out to cool briefly. The kitchen was barely as big as the one he had at home, but it was so cozy, as comfortable to walk around in as an old pair of sneakers. Leaning on the counter in a floury, batter-smeared apron, paging through one of Maggie’s handwritten recipe books, was the second place Connor felt most at peace. The first was in Ava’s arms, of course.

He lingered in the back a while longer since it was quiet out front. He kept an eye on the time to make sure the latest batch wouldn’t get dried out in the open air. Then he stood and flipped through one of Maggie’s stained old informal cookbooks - her recipes were so good, he’d thought about publishing them. He turned page after page, eyes lazily skimming over each line, until he reached the back cover. Penned in fresh black ink in the upper right corner was _ “To Connor: I know you’ll do it right. And remember to keep the egg whites moist or they won’t form stiff peaks. Know that macarons pick up on your feelings, and if you’re frustrated, they’ll break more easily. Be careful and keep your head up. Much love, Maggie.” _

Connor had added another small inscription beneath that, one that looked so fresh it seemed the ink could still smudge if he touched it: _ “August 19, 2021.” _

Ava came by to pick him up at close. He welcomed her in and flipped the sign on the door. “Hey,” she breathed, kissing his cheek. “How was your day?”

“Pretty laid back today. Only two customers yelled at the new guy for putting too much steamed milk in their espresso. Guess he can’t make it as well as the Keurig machine.” He pulled her in and pressed his lips among her soft golden tresses. “I love it so much here.” He sighed and slipped back behind the counter to wipe it down one last time. “So how was the office?”

She followed him and also grabbed a rag to help out. “Good. I think my resignation has finally sunk in with Will.” She chuckled sadly. “He only just got over you leaving and it’s been months.”

“Well now he’ll be the V.P. when you’re gone, so he should be happy,” Connor said, a teasing edge to his voice. Then Ava swatted the dish towel at him and he raised his hands in surrender. “Hey! No, seriously. He’ll still be seeing plenty of us, we’ll invite him over for dinner. I guess just... not at the same time as Nat.”

“Yeah, better to be safe than sorry. Their whole one night stand thing was pretty out of nowhere and she’s still weird about it.”

“Didn’t they bond over _ Parks & Rec _at the holiday party? Then just... sleep together?”

Ava nodded and went to wring out her rag in the sink. “Yes, but to be fair, one of the first things we bonded over was ass, so...”

Connor tossed his towel in the sink and came up next to her. “That makes sense, though, because mine is so great.”

She groaned and let the rag drop from her hands. “Ugh. You’re the worst.”

He pecked her cheek and smirked at her. “So I guess you’re... throwing in the towel, huh?”

“Connor!” she warned, but her annoyance dissolved into girlish giggles as he tugged her in closer. “Can we go home now?” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“That sounds amazing.”

* * *

Ava was over at his place so often now, they both knew it was only a matter of time before she moved in. How could she say no to his quaint, surprisingly spacious townhome over her cramped, brick-walled apartment?

Besides, she was already making the space her own. A few weeks ago in August she had come home hefting two large buckets of paint in either hand. _ “Alright, we’re fixing your boring white walls,” _she announced, shuffling in and dropping the cans gently on the counter while Connor stared at her, dumbfounded.

_ “Whoa, whoa, wait--” _

_ “I know winter is the best time of year to paint, but I’m tired of looking at all these plain walls, so it’s now or never.” _ Ava turned each can toward him as she read off the color. _ “Celery Ice and Royal Eggplant.” _

His frown only deepened at that. _ “So we’re painting my walls with food?” _

_ “Honey, paint is only food if you have a death wish.” _ Ava jabbed a finger at one can, then the other. _ “Pale green goes with deep purple. You’ll be pleasantly surprised, I think. And besides, we’re only doing accent walls in the living room and bedroom. It won’t be all over the place.” _

_ “Okay, I trust you,” _ he sighed. _ “You can be my interior designer.” _ Then Connor paused, and the glint that sneaked into his icy blue gaze made her heart fly. _ “Or should I say our interior designer?” _

_ “I thought you’d never ask.” _

_ “You already have the spare key, anyway. Now I’ll have to make a new spare.” _

They had spent the rest of that mild summer day in baggy old t-shirts and jeans, sliding over bed sheets thrown haphazardly on the floor, flicking specks of celery ice and royal eggplant at each other while a balmy breeze blew in through the open windows. A few days later, when their work was thoroughly dry, Connor replaced the tired art piece over his sofa with a photo of them. It was something candid April snapped one day at work ages ago, where Ava was poised on the corner of Connor’s desk as they talked intently. Now the first way they knew each other was framed in a large print over a background of light green. If they _ had _to be pretentious, then this was the way to do it.

Connor’s car was still in the garage since they carpooled today, so Ava parked in the driveway. They ate a quiet, amiable dinner at the kitchen island with leftovers from Maggie’s. It was strange to Ava, still thinking of this food as made by Maggie when it was made by Connor. Still, though, it had Maggie’s essence embedded deep within; it was made from her recipes, and prepared in the kitchen of the cafe that would forever be embossed with her name. Connor had even ordered a large number of paper bags for to-go orders with _ “Maggie’s Macarons” _ stamped on each side. He was also considering starting a small delivery service, and already had printed out decals of _ “Maggie’s Macarons” _and its phone number for the back window of his car as easy advertising. Not that the small ads and billboards he had purchased were needed, anyway; the place would always be booming regardless. People knew about it, knew about her legacy, and Connor embraced the business like an old friend.

It warmed her, watching him be soft and affectionate for something almost as much as he was for her. So tonight, she decided it was time to tell him. She reached an outstretched hand across the counter, wove her fingers into his, and said, “I’m ready to tell you what happened.” She almost added “to me” at the end, but that wasn’t right. She was involved in it, sure, and he did things, sure, but she refused to think of it that way anymore. Thinking about it in a new perspective, casting the light of her mind on it in a different direction, highlighting new shadows she hadn’t seen before, helped her move past it.

Any hint of humor slipped off his face in an instant. His thumb rubbed circles into the smooth skin on the back of her hand. Yes, she thought, she was ready to let him in to this part of her. She’d had a feeling there was no going back with him for a while now. Maybe there was no going back ever since the day an overzealous Porsche rammed into an unsuspecting Jetta blasting “Call Me Maybe.”

Ava sat there for an hour (really just fifteen minutes) with him and told him all the details that still bothered to linger around in her brain. “My mother met her boyfriend on her smoke break at the pharmacy,” she said. “He was ten years older than her,” she said. A long pause. Connor waited. “He... he seemed nice.” The shaking in her hands seemed to transfer to the island, and in turn the floor and the walls. The white and green and purple walls were shaking. “It... this was around the time I had to move back in with my mum because I was laid off from my job. He... he was there most nights, and...”

She wished Connor would say something, but he was waiting so patiently, so unobtrusively, for her to continue. She knew she had to say it all before she chickened out. Then, thankfully, he seemed to hear her unspoken plea. “Avey, please. It’s okay. I love you,” Connor murmured while he kept tracing circles in her hand. She always thought there was a reason his parents, though akin to her own in their flaws, gave him the initials CPR. Cheesy as it was, he really could resuscitate her like no one else.

“Okay,” she breathed. Inhale. Exhale. “One night, pretty late, he came home and I was in the kitchen and... he tried. He tried to... to make a move on me, make me bend to his will. H- he said to me” - Ava closed her eyes, but the tangy hot breath she always felt on her ear wasn’t as present as it used to be - “he said, ‘Hey, now. Don’t resist. You’ll like it, _ pragtige slet.’” _Beautiful slut.

She knew Connor didn’t know what it meant, and she didn’t want to tell him. He was better off that way, because stewing over events from six years ago wouldn’t do him any good. Perfectly silent, he stared at her and absorbed it.

“I... was able to get away, but... he still touched a few places.” Ava had repeated all this to numerous therapists by now. Out of them all, one she met with a couple times soon after coming to the States was the most memorable -

_ “Physically you escaped, yes, but mentally you’re still there in that moment a lot of the time. Once you learn to remove your mind from what you went through, you’ll see a marked improvement. Try literally imagining your brain running away on little legs. Let it escape the same way the rest of your body did. Don’t repress what happened and shove it into the bottom of a filing cabinet in the back of your mind. Free yourself.” _

Dr. Charles, she thought his name was. He had been too expensive, though.

Ava stacked a number of macarons into a tower on the counter. They were the mess-ups Connor brought home, the ones with little cracks in their shells, the ones that were too deflated and didn’t rise, the ones mixed in with the tiniest speck of egg yolk that managed to sabotage the entire batch. They still tasted good, though, however imperfect. Ava imagined she and Connor were a couple of botched macarons. Him chocolate, her lemon. It worked just fine the way they did.

After another minute she said, “I told my mother about it. She didn’t believe me.”

She heard Connor’s breathy exhale, like the air had been punched out of his lungs all at once. 

“She was on his side. They broke up a few months later for completely unrelated reasons. To the day she died she denied it, denied me.” Her macaron tower toppled, and her free hand, the one that wasn’t held in Connor’s, froze. “Then my last boyfriend before I left _ Die Baai _also tried to... force himself.” Ava grinned the tiniest of grins, a ghost of a grin, because it really didn’t belong in this situation but she felt it anyway. “I crunched his balls under my heel and got away.”

Connor sat there and listened and nodded and listened. Ava leaned forward and popped a cookie in his mouth. Once he chewed and swallowed, he did the same to her.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” she asked him.

“Sure,” he said. They stood up, he planted a kiss in her messy honey waves, and she grabbed a few macarons to-go for the journey to the couch.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”


	20. day two thousand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap! thanks so much for all the love. i had a lot of fun writing this story and i hope you all had a great time reading it. long live connor and ava <3 <3 <3

Sometimes Ava had to stop and wonder if she would ever get accustomed to this new office. It was smaller than the twelfth floor was, and rather than being in a high-rise building, it was in an old converted two-story structure that used to house a Chinese restaurant and an apartment above. And the people here were friendly, but they were not the same crew that Ava got to know and love at Dolen Rhodes. Not to mention the coffeemaker at her new job was straight out of the 90s— not a Keurig in sight.

And, of course, the most noticeable aspect was that there was no Connor here. She dealt with working without him back at Dolen Rhodes for months, so it really shouldn’t be any different at this new workplace. Besides, she got to see him every day, without fail, no matter what, at home.  _ Their  _ home.

It was honestly still so unreal to her. Maybe she wouldn’t ever get used to that, either.

When she was interviewed for the director position at Kuhling & Donnell, Ava was asked why in the world she left her old job.  _ “I just can’t fathom,” _ her future boss said as she shook her head in awe,  _ “why you quit your post at Dolen Rhodes, Ms. Bekker. You were there for over four years and in such a short time managed to rise from an assistant position to Vice President of Sales Affairs. Based on your multiple glowing letters of recommendation” _ — as she said this, her interviewer had shuffled through the aforementioned letters: a solid stack of them, each individual letter requiring stapling—  _ “it seems you were happy there and quite well-loved. Am I wrong to assume that?” _

In response, Ava had simply smiled politely. Her hands felt like they were folded into an origami swan in her lap. All she said was  _ “I needed a change.” _

_ “Please, elaborate— I insist.” _

Ava lowered her head to think, but then she’d realized she didn’t need time to think over her response, because she already knew what it was.  _ “Someone close to me also needed a change in his life, and he made that change with more confidence than the person I was five years ago could ever dream of having. I watched him drop from an executive position to become a cafe owner, and now he’s the most fulfilled I’ve ever seen him. For him, it was a promotion in happiness. He hated wearing a tie, and now he loves wearing an apron.”  _ She’d paused then and took a deep, steadying breath.  _ “Ms. Kuhling, I thought I’d undergone all the change I needed when I moved to the U.S. from South Africa. But that was only the beginning. And I’m nowhere near the end.”  _ She shrugged helplessly at the woman across from her.  _ “I want something new. And I’m eager to experience new here.” _

K&D was a very small company, only just starting out in the world. Ava thought it would be fun to help water the roots of a business and watch it grow from a sapling into the giant redwood that Dolen Rhodes already was now. The main difference here, though, was that her new job was inherently  _ good.  _ Here, she would be in charge of helping establish and manage small clinics for patients without health insurance. Here, Ava hoped she’d never see a gunman burst in and threaten many lives over the loss of one.

Ava had been there for about ten months now. She was used to the swing of things, slipping into the office routine she’d enjoyed at Dolen Rhodes. So what if the coffee wasn’t as good, and there were no longer any yearly holiday parties? There was always the chance for those to be set up in the future.

Every day was better than the last. Today, however, was not the best of days. 

Ava groaned, lifting her face away from the toilet bowl and cringing at the stale, acidic taste in her mouth. She flushed away what had been the contents of her stomach until a minute ago. Then she stood up and splashed some water on her face, grateful she went with minimal waterproof eyeliner today and nothing else. It was like she’d awoken this morning  _ knowing  _ she would end up puking her guts out at work later today!

Her reflection in the grubby little mirror didn’t exactly offer any reassurance, either. Ava did the best she could to smooth herself over, straighten her blouse, fluff out her hair. But the pale, gaunt look on her face couldn’t be hidden as easily. Oh well, she figured, she’d just have to tough it out and walk around looking like a skull with a normal human body attached. She had been through worse before.

Or, at least, she  _ thought  _ she could handle it, until she returned to the cramped little bathroom to throw up two more times. It was barely noon when one of her bosses approached her desk soon after she returned from an unusual third bathroom trip in just two hours.

“Ava, are you alright?”

She spared him a glance and knew she couldn’t lie. “No,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I feel pretty bad, actually. Do you mind if I—”

“— go home early? Oh, yeah, that’s fine. We don’t really wanna hear you retching in the bathroom we all share, so...” He trailed off, grinning apologetically.

Ava winced. “Right. Small office. Still... still, uh, getting used to that.”

On the drive home, she was hit with another tsunami of nausea in her stomach, and for a moment thought she would have to yank the car over to the curb and lean out the door to spill her guts yet again. Surely there couldn’t be anything left in her system anymore, right?

Apparently there was, because she within ten minutes of getting home she was hunched over the toilet once more. At least this time it was in the privacy of home, but it didn’t lessen her worry at all.

It took another five minutes of sitting on the bathmat and pressing a sweaty cheek into the cool porcelain flank of the bathtub for the realization to hit her.

She crawled out of the bathroom and retrieved her phone from the kitchen. She curled up on the couch, trembling, and called Connor.

He picked up surprisingly quick, on the second ring, but it made sense; he’d set a custom ringtone for her a while ago so he knew when the call was important.

“Connor,” she spit out immediately. Her throat was parched as the Sahara but she was too scared to risk ingesting even a single drop of water.

“Avey. What’s the matter?” He hadn’t been given time to shift from “happy to hear from you” mode to “something’s wrong” mode, so his tone was an odd mix between cheerful and concerned. Ava knew how to fix that and make him definitively lean more one way than the other.

“Listen, you need to come home right now.”

“Why? Wait, are you home already? What—”

“Honey,” she interrupted, voice straining as she tried to find and form the right words. “I- I think I might be—” Her tongue flopped, so she tried again. “Connor, I think I’m pregnant.”

Silence. Then “I’m on my way.”

He hung up before she got the chance to request he make a stop on the way home. But then not even fifteen minutes later, Connor came home with a plastic bag from the pharmacy in hand. He already  _ knew  _ what she was going to ask for.

It was then, as Ava watched him bustle through the front door and pull her into a hug before doing anything else, that she came to the conclusion Connor Rhodes as as close to perfect as a man could get. And damn, it was hard to find a man whose quirks balanced out his perks.

But here was Exhibit A: Connor, smiling gently, his touch never leaving her skin, removing an assortment of pregnancy test brands from the plastic bag, then sitting on the edge of their bed on the other side of the closed bathroom door, waiting. 

She was so terrified and so in love, and as she perched herself on the edge of the tub, she thought maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

* * *

Connor was instructing a newbie on how to prepare a decent reuben sandwich when the beginning chords of “Call Me Maybe” started playing from his back pocket. He excused himself and stepped into the back of the kitchen by the walk-in fridge, then picked up the call.

Ava didn’t even give him a chance to say hello. She steamrolled right over it with his name, croaked out in a tone that made Connor’s heart pound against his ribcage.

“Avey,” he said carefully, not even hearing the sound of his own voice. “What’s the matter?”

Her words were firm but wavering. “Listen, you need to come home right now.”

“Why? Wait, are you home already? What—” Connor’s vision swam and blurred like a watercolor painting. Was she not even at work anymore? Or did she, like, forget to turn off the bathroom tap before leaving this morning? His brain was hopping from the best case scenario to the worst then back again.

She cut through his flurry of thoughts with “Honey” and that got him to plug up his sputtering mouth. She never called him that— she thought “honey” was a dumb pet name. Then she continued, “I- I think I might be—” Pause. Then “Connor, I think I’m pregnant.”

Connor stared blankly ahead of him. In his peripheral, he saw the newbie he’d been training still struggling to layer the sandwich correctly, a slice of swiss cheese slipping out of his fingers and falling on the ground. Then the world resumed spinning and Connor snapped out of it, surging forward, snatching up the cheese, and throwing it in the trash while saying “I’m on my way.” Every nerve ending in his body trembled as he hit the end call button.

He emerged up front and approached one of the managers who had been around since Maggie’s time as owner. “Hey, Ben, I have to run home. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Are you okay running the place while I’m gone?”

The employee nodded. “Yeah, I’ll hold down the fort. Hope everything’s okay,” he said.

Connor knew Ben didn’t hear him, but as he marched out the door he muttered, “I hope so too.”

He hopped in his car, tossing his messy apron to the side. He merged a little recklessly into traffic, narrowly missing cutting someone off. Connor took a deep breath and evened out his speed, knowing Ava would be angrier at him for arriving home dead than late. He reflected on their conversation as he switched lanes, thinking over what she said and how she said it. Then it came to him:  _ “I think I’m pregnant.”  _ She only  _ thought  _ she was. She needed to be  _ positive  _ she was. Connor swung the wheel, turning onto a side street, and slid into a parking space in front of a CVS. He ran through the aisles of that pharmacy like he was preparing for an Olympic sport. And in less than five minutes, he was parking in the driveway of their house with an assortment of pregnancy test boxes sliding around in the bag in his hand.

The house was silent when he came in. He found her folded in on herself on the couch, her face wiped clean of any expression. Connor stood at the edge of the room and met her gaze. “Hey,” he said. The word was soft, reaching out and wrapping itself around her like a warm blanket.

“Hey,” she sighed. She stood up, went over to squeeze his hand, then disappeared into the master bathroom with the plastic bag. 

Connor felt like he was sitting on the end of their bed for hours. His sock-covered feet curled into the carpet and his fingers curled into fists so tight he thought his blood vessels would snap. It was only a few minutes before Ava opened the door and slid out. She sat next to him and it seemed like she was making every effort to appear as small as possible. He hated seeing her like this.

“Make a timer for two minutes,” she mumbled into his arm. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and did as instructed. Then they sat there and sat there, leaning into each other and staring at the ajar bathroom door. Now time passed at lightning speed, and when the timer went off Ava stood and led him by the hand into the bathroom.

Connor saw multiple tests lined up on the closed toilet lid, and the torn-open boxes they came in all over the floor. She’d tried at least one from each brand. Just to be sure, right? Before she bent over to pick the first one up, she froze, back to him.

“I’m just scared,” Ava confessed. She spun around, teeth toying with her lower lip. “I- I’ve never thought of myself as a mother.”

“You would be incredible,” he told her. He pulled her close— he was pretty sure they hadn’t stopped touching each other since he got home— and stroked the golden waves tumbling down her back. “But if it’s not what you want— I know we never talked about it, o- or if it’s not the right time, you can—”

She exhaled into his chest, her breath warm through his thin shirt. “I can get an abortion. I know. I just... this isn’t something I thought we’d have to think about so soon.” Slowly Ava shook her head, her eyes fixed on the wall behind him as her brain reeled. “I- I mean, I know the clock’s ticking, I’m thirty-three, and you’re...”

She trailed off, and he filled in for her. “Age doesn’t matter. When we’re ready, we’re ready. And if that’s not now—”

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t  _ know  _ if now is right or not. But I feel like... if I’m reacting this way, if I have to question it...” Her words cut off again as her breath hitched, a choking dry sob seizing up her chest for a moment. Connor didn’t let go of her for a second when she spun around to face their future.

Ava picked up the test, which shook right along with her hands, and held it up to read the result.

Negative.

Connor’s lungs began to leak out an anxious breath, his eyes following her hands as they grabbed the next plastic stick.

Not pregnant.

And the next— a tiny negative sign. And the one after that— one single faded line rather than two.

In an instant they all clattered to the floor and they both let out complete sighs of relief. Then Ava began to laugh. She laughed and laughed, caught in a web of delirium in his arms. He smiled and rubbed her back, and they walked out of the bathroom at a loss for words.

It took a good five minutes to find them. “You smell like ghost’s breath,” Ava mumbled.

Connor startled. “Ghost’s breath? What the hell is that?”

“I can’t think of the English word for it.  _ Spookasem.  _ It translates to ghost’s breath, but... ah. You know, the sweet fluffy stuff that you eat?”

“Oh! Cotton candy?” Connor grinned, mussing her already disheveled hair. “That makes sense. I tried out a new macaron recipe today, they’re cotton candy flavor.”

He felt her frown against his arm. “Well, don’t bring any home for me to taste test, because cotton candy is disgusting.”

His jaw dropped. “What? Wow. I learn something new about you every day.” He didn’t say it, but that was truly the best thing. Connor had always loved to soak in new information, and educating himself in the subject of Ava Bekker was honestly one of the few worthwhile ways to spend his time. After a pause, he said, “I wanna learn something new about you every single day forever, Avey.”

She nuzzled his shoulder, then pulled back to look at him. “And I wanna hear your cheesy one-liners every single day forever, Mr. Rhodes.”

“And  _ I  _ wanna hear your sarcastic one-liners every single day forever, Mrs. Rhodes,” he returned. Before the last couple words left his mouth, Connor knew it would cause a reaction, but oddly enough he didn’t feel any pinpricks of hesitation in his gut. 

He watched her face shift. Her eyes gave off something completely different from her uncertain frown. “Connor?” she asked.

Connor captured that frown in a kiss, and when they separated, she was smiling. He burrowed into her neck, breathed the scent of green tea perfume. “Marry me, Ava,” he whispered, lips brushing her skin.

She chuckled. “Marry you?” she said. Her hand slipped under his chin and she pressed their foreheads together so that they were sharing the same air. It took him a second to recognize her vigorous nodding and the quiet tears streaming down her cheeks. “I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
